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THE 


BOYS  OF  THIRTY-FIVE 


A  STORY  OF  A  SEAPORT  TOWN 


BY 
EDWARD    HENRY   ELWELL 


BOSTON 
LEE   AND    SHEPARD,   47    FRANKLIN    STREET 

NEW  YORK 

CHAS.   T.  DILLINGHAM,  678  BROADWAY 
1884 


'/*£ 

7 


COPYRIGHT, 

1883, 
BY  LBB  AND  SHKPARD. 


ALFRED  MUDGB  &  SON,  PRINTERS,  BOSTON. 


I 
CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  SCENE  OF  ACTION 9 

II.    IN  WHICH  THE  READER  MAKES  SOME  NEW  ACQUAINT- 

ANCES,  AND  A  GREAT   BATTLE   IS  FOUGHT       .           .  22 

III.  I   ENTER  THE  GRAMMAR   SCHOOL  FOR    BOYS         .           .  35 

IV.  THE  GLORIOUS  FOURTH 55 

V.    How  JIM  TRUMAN  LOST  HIS  ARM      ....  71 

VI.    GENERAL  MUSTER 87 

VII.    THE  LIBERTY  STREET  LANCERS  GO  INTO  WINTER 

QUARTERS 103 

VIII.    TAR-BUCKET  NIGHT 114 

IX.    STUB-SHORTS 128 

X.    ON  THE  ICE 140 

XL    WE  VISIT  THE  TROPICS  AND   ENGAGE    IN  A    SEA- 
FIGHT       163 

XII.    A  VOYAGE  OF  DISCOVERY 172 

XIII.  IN  CAMP 193 

XIV.  WE  JOURNEY  TO  A   FAR  COUNTRY        ....  226 

XV.    IN  AFTER  YEARS 250 


THE  BOYS  OF  THIRTY-FIVE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    SCENE    OF    ACTION. 

I  WAS  born  at  Landsport,  a  tdwn  which  boasted  of 
having  the  best  harbor  on  the  Atlantic  coast.  I  am 
particular  to  state  this  fact,  because  I  have  heard 
that  seven  cities  disputed  for  the  honor  of  being  the 
birthplace  of  Homer,  but  I  do  not  want  any  uncer- 
tainty to  hang  about  the  place  of  my  nativity.  It 
must  be  very  annoying  not  to  know  where  you  were 
born.  I  knew  a  young  lady  once  who  said  she  was 
not  born  anywhere  in  particular ;  she  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  Methodist  clergyman.  I  thought  she  always 
had  a  bewildered  look,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  select 
her  birthplace  out  of  the  score  of  towns  which 
mingled  confusedly  in  her  memory.  Another  young 
lady  of  my  acquaintance  was  born  on  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  on  board  an  American  ship,  under  the  Eng- 
lish flag,  and  was  nursed  by  a  Chinawoman.  She 
has  always  been  troubled  with  perplexing  doubts  as 
to  her  nationality,  and  then  it  is  so  awkward  when 

(9) 


IO  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

asked  your  birthplace  to  be  compelled  to  say,  "  In 
about  lat.  30°  15'  N.,  and  Ion.  140°  10'  E."  Who 
would  care  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  such  a  birthplace? 

I  hasten,  therefore,  at  the  outset  of  my  story,  to 
give  Landsport  the  credit  of  being  the  place  where  I 
was  born.  I  have  good  authority  for  the  statement, 
which  I  need  not  introduce  here.  Landsport  is  now 
a  considerable  city,  but  when  I  arrived  there,  on  a 
dark  day  in  December,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, it  was  but  a  bustling  village,  largely  engaged  in 
exporting  lumber  to  the  West  Indies,  in  return  for 
which  its  low-deck  brigs  brought  home  cargoes  of 
molasses,  great  part  of  which  was  made  into  rum 
at  its  half-dozen  distilleries.  Some  portion  of  the 
molasses,  together  with  a  good  many  "kintals"  of 
salt  fish,  and  a  sufficient  quantity  of  the  rum  to  ap- 
pease the  thirst  which  the  fish  created,  was  exchanged 
for  round  hogs,  cheese,  butter,  and  lard,  which  the 
Vermonters,  in  their  low  red  pungs,  brought  down 
through  the  Notch  of  the  White  Mountains.  I  took 
little  note  of  these  things,  however,  on  my  arrival, 
but  devoted  myself  for  a  long  time,  as  I  have  been 
informed,  to  sucking  my  thumb. 

The  first  thing  I  can  remember  is  my  grandfather's 

.house,  in  which  I  was  born.     I  can  see  it  now,  in  my 

mind's  eye,  although  it  was  long  since  destroyed  in 

the  great  fire  which  swept  over  the  town,  and  w:is 


THE   SCENE   OF    ACTION.  II 

stayed  just  beyond  the  line  on  which  the  old  house 
stood.  It  had  seen  many  a  troublous  time,  having 
been  one  of  the  few  houses  that  escaped  the  flames 
when  the  British  burned  the  town  in  1775. 

It  stood  close  upon  the  sidewalk,  and  originally 
fronted  the  street ;  the  town  authorities  declared  that 
it  encroached  upon  the  roadway  and  proposed  to  set 
it  back,  but  my  grandfather  threatened  to  shoot  the 
first  man  who  attempted  to  move  it.  I  used  to  fancy 
him  stalking  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house,  with 
his  gun  upon  his  shoulder. 

His  direful  threat  was  not  without  its  effect,  for  the 
old  house  remained  undisturbed  until  after  his  death. 
He  was  a  ship-master,  and  one  dark  night,  while  going 
down  Long  Wharf  in  Boston,  he  fell  overboard  and 
was  drowned.  All  fear  of  the  avenging  gun  being 
now  removed,  the  selectmen  turned  the  house  about, 
presenting  its  gable  end  to  the  street.  My  grand- 
mother weakly  consented  to  this  encroachment,  but 
she  always  said  that  the  town  never  kept  its  agree- 
ment to  make  the  house  as  good  as  it  was  before 
She  was  only  a  widow,  and  kept  no  gun. 

The  old  house  was  of  but  one  story,  but  like  a 
Dutch  man-of-war,  it  had  great  breadth  of  beam, 
and  was  solidly  built.  The  frame  was  of  oak,  and 
thl  corner  posts  stood  out  in  the  rooms  with  great 
prominence.  I  can  see  the  "  front  room  "  now,  with 


12  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

my  grandmother  sitting  by  the  fire  busily  knitting. 
On  the  right  as  you  entered  was  the  buffet,  a  recess 
in  the  wall,  extending  half-way  from  the  ceiling  to 
the  floor,  and  forming  a  sort  of  cupboard,  with  a  cur- 
tain in  front.  Here  my  grandmother  kept  her  best 
"chany"  set;  but  the  chief  ornament  of  the  buffet 
was  a  great  naval  pitcher,  with  a  picture  on  it  of  two 
frigates  engaged  in  battle,  and  guns  and  flags  crossed 
in  the  foreground.  Inscribed  upon  it  was  the  senti- 
ment, "Success  to  our  Infant  Navy."  I  used  to 
wonder  who  was  the  infant  Navy,  not  doubting  that 
he  was  somebody's  baby.  My  grandmother,  whose 
father  had  sailed  with  Commodore  Truxtun,  said  the 
picture  commemorated  Truxtun's  victory  over  the 
French  frigate  La  Vengeance,  away  back  in  1800,  but 
this  information  did  not  much  enlighten  me. 

I  had  good  reason  to  remember  that  pitcher,  for  it 
owed  its  destruction  to  one  of  my  youthful  indiscre- 
tions. One  day,  with  many  injunctions  to  carry  it 
carefully,  I  was  sent  with  it  to  the  house  of  a  neigh- 
bor who  had  wished  to  borrow  it.  The  neighbor 
lived  at  some  little  distance,  and  as  I  went  on  my 
way,  with  my  precious  burden,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
it  would  be  interesting  to  ascertain  how  fast  I  could 
walk  with  my  eyes  shut.  I  tried  the  experiment,  and 
thought  I  was  going  on  in  a  remarkably  straight  line, 
when  my  progress  was  suddenly  arrested  by  a  violent 


THE   SCENE  OF   ACTION.  13 

shock  and  a  great  crash.  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  was 
much  surprised  to  find  that  I  had  run  into  a  stone 
post  that  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  and  that 
the  great  naval  pitcher  lay  in  fragments  at  my  feet. 

My  heart  sank  within  me,  for  I  knew  my  grand- 
mother set  great  store  by  that  pitcher.  As  I  looked 
sorrowfully  down  at  the  fragments  I  saw  that  the  » 
picture  of  the  ships  engaged  in  combat  was  unbroken. 
I  took  heart  at  this,  for  I  knew  that  it  was  in  one  of 
those  ships  that  my  great-grandfather  had  fought, 
and  that  my  grandmother  took  great  pride  in  that 
picture.  Picking  up  the  fragment  I  ran  home,  and 
bursting  into  the  house  exclaimed,  "  I  saved  the  ships, 
grandma'am  !  " 

"  Saved  the  ships,  child  ;  why,  what  have  you  done 
with  my  pitcher  ?  " 

"  It  hit  against  a  post  and  broke  all  to  pieces, 
but  I  saved  the  ships,"  said  I,  with  an  air  worthy  of 
the  descendant  of  a  naval  hero. 

"  What  a  pity  !     But  did  n't  you  hurt  you,  child  ?  " 

That  was  all  she  said.  If  I  had  been  a  boy  of  to-day 
I  should  have  inwardly  remarked,  "  Is  n't  she  a  bully 
grandmother  ? "  But  being  forty  years  behind  the 
times,  I  only  said,  "No,  ma'am,"  and  ran  off  to  my 
play. 

Next  beyond  the  buffet  was  the  fireplace.  I  re- 
member the  brass-headed  andirons  that  stood  in  it, 


14  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

because  there  was  a  small  hole  in  the  top  of  one  of 
them  into  which  I  used  to  drop  all  the  pins  I  could 
find,  for  the  pleasure  of  unscrewing  the  top  and 
taking  them  out. 

We  used  to  sit  by  the  hearth  on  the  winter  even- 
ings and  listen  to  the  stories  my  grandmother  told 
of  the  time  when  my  grandfather  brought  her  home 
to  the  old  house,  from  Salem,  where  he  married  her. 
Mother  used  to  say  that  grandmother  was  the  Salem 
beauty  in  her  day,  but  grandmother  never  said  so. 
I  know  she  was  a  comely  old  lady.  She  wore  a 
calash,  and  somehow  I  always  think  of  her  now  as 
having  a  sort  of  old-fashioned  chaise-top  over  her 
head. 

She  used  to  tell  us  that  when  she  came  home  to 
my  great-grandfather's  house  he  owned  one  or  two 
negro  slaves,  and  that  when  they  misbehaved  my 
great-grandmother  had  them  tied  up  to  the  apple- 
trees  in  the  garden  and  flogged.  I  used  to  picture 
her  a  very  stern  old  lady,  with  a  big  whip  in  her 
hand. 

One  stormy  winter  night,  as  we  sat  by  the  blazing 
wood  fire,  on  the  big  wooden  settees,  the  high  backs 
of  which  kept  off  the  draughts  from  the  rattling  win- 
dows, she  told  us  of  the  great  storm  when  so  many 
vessels  were  lost  on  the  coast.  A  furious  gale  raged 
all  night,  and  the  snow  piled  in  high  drifts  almost  to 


THE    SCENE    OF    ACTION.  15 

the  tops  of  the  low  windows.  Such  snow-storms  as 
they  used  to  have  in  the  old  times !  There  is  noth- 
ing like  them  in  these  degenerate  days. 

My  grandmother  said  that  my  uncle  Benjamin, 
who  was  a  printer,  was  obliged  to  rise  very  early  on 
the  morning  following  the  storm,  and  groping  in  the 
fireplace  for  a  coal  with  which  to  light  his  candle 
(there  were  no  friction  matches  in  those  days),  his 
hand  fell  upon  a  human  face !  He  was  much 
startled,  but  presently,  succeeding  in  lighting  his  can- 
dle, he  saw  a  man  lying  at  full  length  upon  the 
hearth.  It  required  some  effort  to  arouse  him,  but 
when  at  last  he  was  able  to  sit  up  and  speak  he  told 
this  story  :  He  was  a  poor  fisherman  whose  craft  had 
been  dashed  against  the  wharf  until  she  sank,  he 
barely  escaping  with  his  life.  At  midnight,  in  the 
driving  storm,  he  struggled  through  the  snow-drifts 
up  into  the  town,  trying  every  door,  but  finding  all 
fastened  until  he  came  to  my  grandfather's.  Here 
he  entered  and  sought  to  warm  himself  by  the  dying 
embers,  until  he  fell  asleep. 

Doors  were  often  left  unfastened  all  night  in 
those  primitive  days.  In  my  boyhood  a  stout  bar  at 
the  top  was  all  the  fastening  of  the  door. 

After  these  stories  my  grandmother  would  rake 
the  ashes  over  the  embers  to  preserve  some  coals  for 
the  morning  fire,  and  I  would  be  sent  to  bed  in  one 


1 6  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

of  the  great  chambers  of  the  garret.  (There  were 
no  "attics"  then.)  There  I  would  lie  and  listen  to 
the  wind  whistling  in  the  great  chimney  which  ran 
up  through  the  centre  of  the  house. 

One  of  those  garret  chambers  was  my  play-ground 
on  winter  days  when  the  snow  was  too  deep  to 
admit  of  my  going  out  of  doors.  Heavy  oaken 
beams  ran  along  the  gable  end  of  the  garret,  just 
above  the  floor,  and  on  these  I  used  to  marshal  my 
company  of  toy  soldiers,  and  fire  my  tiny  cannon.  I 
had,  however,  more  of  a  nautical  than  a  militaryyturn 
of  mind,  and  used  to  "  make  believe  "  the  garret  was 
a  ship  in  which  I  made  long  voyages.  Great  beams 
ran  across  near  the  ridge-pole,  and  one  of  these  I 
could  reach  by  means  of  the  flight  of  steps  that  led 
up  to  the  scuttle  in  the  roof.  Fastening  a  rope  in  a 
loop,  from  one  end  of  the  beam  to  the  other,  to 
serve  as  a  foot-rope,  I  regarded  the  beam  as  a  yard 
on  the  mast  of  the  ship,  while  the  ladder  by  which  it 
was  reached  was  the  ratlines. 

Once,  when  out  on  this  yard-arm,  taking  in  sail  in  a 
tremendous  gale  of  wind,  the  foot-rope  swung  out 
from  under  my  feet,  doubtless  owing  to  a  sudden 
lurch  of  the  ship  ;  and  turning  a  summersault  I  fell 
head-foremost  into  a  barrel  of  feathers.  Nothing 
was  seen  of  me  for  a  time  but  a  very  lively  pair  of 
heels,  and  I  might  have  smothered  in  the  feathers  if 


THE   SCENE   OF   ACTION.  If 

Si  Sumner,  the  ship's  mate,  had  not  cried,  "  Shiver 
my  timbers  !  "  and  rushed  to  the  rescue.  Si  had 
great  command  of  the  nautical  vocabulary,  and  I 
rated  him  as  a  first-class  seaman. 

When  dragged  out  by  the  heels  I  had  very  little 
breath  in  me,  but  the  feathers  had  broken  my  fall, 
and  I  was  not  seriously  hurt.  In  my  struggles  to 
release  myself  I  had  grasped  a  handful  of  feathers, 
and  when  I  opened  my  hand  something  fell  from  it 
on  to  the  floor.  Si  picked  it  up  and  declared  that  it 
was  a  piece  of  gold  money.  I  told  my  mother  that  I 
saw  it  on  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  and  dived  over- 
board after  it,  but  grandmother,  while  trying  to 
brush  the  feathers  from  my  clothes  with  a  damp 
brush,  said  she  knew  better. 

The  feathers  had  been  emptied  from  an  old  bed  for 
the  purpose  of  cleansing,  and  doubtless  the  coin  had 
been  brought  home  by  one  of  my  sea-faring  uncles, 
and  had  accidentally  found  its  way  into  the  bed.  It 
was  customary  in  those  days  to  conceal  money 
between  the  beds.  I  have  kept  the  coin  all  these 
years  as  a  memento  of  my  early  sea-faring  days,  and 
not  long  since,  in  turning  over  some  old  keepsakes,  I 
came  upon  it.  It  is  as  bright  and  fresh  as  when 
coined,  although  it  bears  date  of  1730.  It  is  a  Por- 
tuguese coin,  of  the  reign  of  John  V.,  and  bears  the 
inscription,  "In  hoc  signo  vinces"  In  that  sign  I 

2 


1 8  THE   BOYS   OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

conquered,  for  the  finding  of  the  coin  diverted  atten- 
tion from  my  perilous  adventure,  and  I  was  per- 
mitted to  continue  my  voyage  without  further 
reproof. than  an  admonition  against  going  on  to  the 
yard-arm  in  a  gale  of  wind. 

There  was  a  large  garden  in  the  rear  of  my  grand- 
father's house,  and  the  day  had  been  when  it  was  still 
larger.  It  once  ran  through  to  Fore  Street,  but  my 
grandfather  had  sold  off  several  lots,  and  in  my  boy- 
hood it  was  bounded  at  the  foot  by  Chaddock's 
orchard.  The  old  wide-spreading  apple-trees  in  Chad- 
dock's  dropped  their  ripe  fruit  in  the  tall  grass,  from 
which  the  red  and  yellow  apples  peeped  out  tempt- 
ingly. From  the  top  of  the  fence  I  used  to  gaze  upon 
them  much  as  the  ancient  Israelites  looked  upon  the 
Promised  Land.  But  away  through  the  vista  of  the 
trees  there  was  a  glimpse  of  a  back  door,  seldom  open, 
but  always  looking  as  if  some  grim  personage  was 
ready  to  issue  from  it  and  pounce  upon  any  tres- 
passer. Undoubtedly  there  were  raids  made  upon 
those  apples  in  my  time,  but  I  never  knew  a  boy  to 
go  beyond  the  fence  and  tell  of  it. 

In  my  grandfather's  garden  there  were  two  very 
large  apple-trees,  the  Pearmain  and  the  Bitter-sweet. 
The  Pearmain  was  a  wide-spreading  tree,  branching 
near  the  ground,  into  which  I  could  climb  and  nestle 
among  the  embowered  boughs.  I  was  in  this  tree 


THE   SCENE   OF   ACTION.  19 

when  Bill  Truman  fell  from  it,  and,  striking  on  his 
head,  lay  insensible  on  the  ground  until  his  father 
came  and  carried  him  into  the  house.  I  remember 
how  I  stole  away  with  a  deep  awe  upon  me,  thinking 
poor  Bill  was  dead.  But  he  was  a  hard-headed  boy, 
and  lived  many  a  long  year  after. 

The  Bitter-sweet,  unlike  the  Pearmain,  had  a  tail, 
straight  stem,  which  I  could  never  climb,  but  by  way 
of  compensation  it  had  a  large  cavity  near  the  ground, 
which  served  me  for  a  cavern,  in  which  many  pre- 
cious possessions  were  hidden. 

On  one  side  of  the  garden  there  rose  the  high  dead 
wall  of  the  stage-coach  company's  stable,- broken  only 
in  the  basement  by  a  long  row  of  square  apertures 
admitting  light  to  the  stalls,  and  out  of  which  the 
horses  used  to  poke  their  noses  for  a  whiff  of  fresh 
air.  I  used  to  make  acquaintance  with  them  as  I 
played  in  the  garden,  and  fancied  they  got  to  know 
me.  One,  whose  mild  eyes  I  always  recognized,  often 
greeted  me  with  a  gentle  whinny,  which  I  inter- 
preted to  mean  "  good  morning."  I  have  since 
thought  it  was  only  a  reminder  of  the  apple  he  was 
accustomed  to  receive  at  my  hands. 

I  remember  one  long  sunny  afternoon,  during  which 
I  was  all  alone,  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  engaged 
in  the  tantalizing  pursuit  of  a  butterfly.  The  gayly 
painted  creature  seemed  to  enter  into  the  sport  with 


2O  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

me,  hovering  about  my  head,  and  then,  as  I  threw  up 
my  cap  at  it,  mounting  higher,  as  if  in  mockery  of  my 
vain  attempts  to  catch  it.  It  led  me  a  long  chase 
among  the  flowers,  still  hovering  about,  until  some- 
thing of  its  own  light-heartedness  took  possession  of 
me,  and  I  rejoiced  in  its  companionship,  the  long, 
bright  hours  gliding  away  like  a  pleasant  dream.  I 
sometimes  wonder  if  I  have  ever  been  as  happy 
in  the  pursuit  of  the  world's  allurements  as  I  was 
when  chasing  the  butterfly  in  my  grandfather's  gar- 
den. 

On  the  side  of  the  garden  opposite  the  stable  there 
was  a  vacant  lot  used  as  a  lumber-yard,  beyond  which 
ran  the  long  building  of  the  twine  factory,  with  many 
small  windows.  At  the  head  of  the  lumber-yard, 
fronting  the  street,  stood  a  building  occupied  by  Si 
Sumner's  father  as  a  joiner  shop.  In  the  second 
story  of  this  building,  approached  by  an  outside 
flight  of  stairs  in  the  rear,  was  a  long-disused  school- 
room in  which  one  of  the  old  "masters  "  had  taught. 

We  boys  used  to  climb  the  long  flight  of  stairs, 
which  made  a  sharp  turn  above  the  first  story,  and 
from  the  upper  landing  peer  in  at  the  windows. 
Once  we  got  possession  of  the  key,  and  entering,  ran 
riot  over  the  deserted  benches.  On  one  of  these 
were  the  initials  "  J.  C.,"  cut  large  with  a  grand  flour- 
ish around  them.  The  owner  of  those  initials  after- 


THE   SCENE   OF    ACTION.  21 

wards  cut  a  great  figure  in  the  world's  school-room, 
and  his  name  stands  graven  there  still. 

Do  you  see,  as  I  do,  the  low,  unpainted  cottage, 
with  its  gable  end  close  upon  the  sidewalk,  the  great 
stable  standing  back  from  the  street  on  one  side  of 
it,  the  old  school-house  on  the  other,  and  the  long 
garden  stretching  away  behind  it  ?  It  is  all  in  my 
mind's  eye  only,  for  now  the  ground  "where  once  the 
garden  smiled  "  is  covered  with  great  blocks  of  brick 
and  stone,  and  Chaddock's  apple-trees  have  given 
place  to  store-houses  and  workshops. 

Having  set  the  stage,  let  me  now  introduce  the 
characters  who  are  to  act  upon  it. 


22  THE  BOYS   QF   THIRTY-FIVE. 


CHAPTER    II. 

IN  WHICH    THE    READER   MAKES   SOME   NEW  ACQUAINT- 
ANCES,  AND    A    GREAT    BATTLE    IS    FOUGHT. 

ONE  morning  in  spring,  when  the  weather  had 
grown  warm  enough  to  enable  us  to  play  on  the 
sunny  side  of  the  street,  a  half-dozen  boys  were  en- 
gaged in  a  game  of  rolly-pooly  on  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  the  house  in  which  Si  Sumner  lived,  which 
stood  opposite  my  grandfather's.  In  the  game  of 
rolly-pooly  a  ball  was  rolled  into  a  slight  depression 
in  the  ground.  Ed  Thompson  had  the  ball,  and  he 
tossed  it  into  the  air  just  as  a  gentleman  was  pass- 
ing, with  a  small  boy  at  his  side.  The  gentleman 
caught  the  ball  as  it  came  down,  and  critically  ex- 
amined it.  It  was  not  a  cast-iron  ball,  such  as  is  now 
used  in  the  noble  game  of  base-ball,  but  was  stuffed 
with  woollen  yarn  and  india-rubber,  and  covered 
with  soft  leather.  Ed  Thompson's  mother  had 
made  it  for  him,  and  we  considered  it  a  great  suc- 
cess, Si  Sumner's  sister  having  signally  failed  in  an 
attempt  to  a  similar  manufacture.  She  produced  a 
cylinder  instead  of  a  globe,  and  when  Ben  Hunter 
caught  sight  of  it  he  cried  out,  — 


NEW   ACQUAINTANCES.  2$ 

"  Hallo,  Si,  where  did  you  get  that  pepper-box  ?  " 

"  Si's  pepper-box  "  it  remained  to  the  end. 

The  gentleman  seemed  satisfied  with  his  examina- 
tion of  the  ball,  and  turning  to  Ed  Thompson 
handed  him  a  fourpence  'alfpenny,  gave  the  ball  to 
the  boy  by  his  side,  and  passed  on. 

Ed  Thompson,  who  was  a  shy  little  fellow,  stood 
dumbfounded,  while  Ben  Hunter  cried  out,  — 

"  That 's  John  Neal,  confound  his  impudence  ! " 

Ben  was  a  big,  bullying  boy,  with  a  tongue  of  his 
own,  and  was  never  backward  in  the  expression  of 
his  opinions. 

"What  shall  we  do  now?"  said  Joe  Jameson,  whose 
turn  it  was  to  roll ;  "  he 's  carried  off  the  ball ! " 

At  that  moment  Ben  Hunter  cried,  — 

"  Here  comes  '  Hurrah  for  Jackson  ! ' ' 

Looking  up  street  we-  saw  a  gentleman  driving 
down  in  a  chaise.  He  was  a  big,  round,  jolly-look- 
ing man,  and  as  he  passed  we  all  gathered  on  the 
edge  of  the  sidewalk  and  shouted,  "  Hurrah  for 
Jackson ! "  whereupon  the  gentleman  in  the  chaise 
lifted  his  hat  and  bowed  and  smiled. 

This  was  the  Hon.  Albert  Smith,  who,  Ben  said, 
was  a  member  of  Congress  and  a  great  admirer  of 
Gen.  Jackson.  I  afterwards  heard  him  make  a  politi- 
cal speech,  in  which,  in  true  ad  captandum  style,  he 
charged  the  Whigs  with  putting  a  tax  on  molasses, 
"  an  article,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  fond  of !  " 


24  THE    BOVS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Ben,  after  the  Hon.  Albert 
had  passed,  "let's  go  into  the  stable  and  play  the 
battle  of  New  Orleans;  Gen.  Jackson,  you  know, 
whipped  the  Btitishers  there." 

"  Agreed,"  cried  we  all,  and  into  the  stable  we 
went.  Now  this  stable  of  the  stage-coach  company 
was  a  famous  play-ground  for  us  boys.  As  I  have 
said,  it  stood  back  from  the  street,  and  there  had 
once  been  great  gates  in  front  of  it.  These  were 
now  gone,  but  the  high  gate-posts  and  broken  wall 
on  each  side  remained,  and  I  used  to  fancy  them  the 
entrance  to  a  ruined  castle.  The  ground  on  which 
the  stable  stood  fell  off  in  the  rear,  and  the  base- 
ment was  occupied  by  the  stage  horses,  while  the 
first  floor,  on  a  level  with  the  street,  was  filled  with 
stage-coaches  and  sleigh-coaches,  in  which  on  rainy 
days  we  sat  and  told  stories,  or  played  hide-and-seek. 
Many  a  journey  we  took  in  those  old  coaches  as  they 
stood  in  the  gloomy  recesses  of  the  carriage-room. 
It  was  a  scene  of  great  interest  for  us  when  one  of 
them  was  drawn  out  and  the  horses  put  to,  and  the 
driver  pulled  on  his  big  gloves  and  mounted  the  box, 
and  the  coach  went  rolling  out  of  the  gateway. 

On  one  side  of  the  door,  as  you  entere'd  the  car- 
riage-room, stood  an  immense  grain-chest,  the  con- 
tents of  which  were  conducted  by  a  spout  to  the 
stable  below. 


NEW   ACQUAINTANCES.  2$ 

"This,"  said  Ben,  "is  the  fort,  and  those  bags  of 
oats  leaning  against  the  well  beyond  are  the  cotton 
bales  with  which  Gen.  Jackson  defended  the  city.  I 
am  Gen.  Jackson,  and  Joe  Jameson  must  be  Gen. 
Packenham,  the  commander  of  the  Britishers. 
Choose  your  men." 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  be  a  Britisher  to  be  beaten  by 
you,"  said  Joe. 

But  the  boys  all  declared  he  was  just  the  fellow  to 
lead  the  invading  forces,  Si  Sumner  sagaciously 
remarking  that  you  could  not  tell  who  would  be 
whipped  until  after  the  battle  was  fought. 

Thus  flattered  and  entreated,  Joe  was  compelled  to 
take  command  of  the  British  army,  and  the  com- 
manders selected  their  forces,  each  choosing  a  boy  in 
turn.  I  fell  into  the  ranks  of  the  British,  and  was 
made  second  in  command. 

Gen.  Jackson,  with  his  forces,  immediately  took 
possession  of  the  fort  by  mounting  the  grain-chest, 
when  Jim  Norton,  who  was  on  our  side,  cried 
out,  — 

"  What  shall  we  use  for  weapons  ?  " 

"There's  a  pile  of  empty  meal-bags,"  said  Gen- 
Jackson,  ever  ready  in  resources  ;  "  let 's  take  them." 

Every  man  armed  himself  with  a  meal-bag,  and 
then  Gen.  Packenham  called  a  council  of  war,  to 
determine  on  the  best  plan  of  attack.  I  was  for 


26  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

undermining  and  blowing  up  the  enemy's  fort,  but 
the  general  decided  on  carrying  his  works  by  storm. 

Meantime  Gen.  Jackson  had  been  busily  engaged 
in  fortifying  his  position  by  placing  a  line  of  cotton 
bales  (bags  filled  with  oats)  along  the  edge  of  the 
grain-chest.  Seeing  this,  our  commander  decided  on 
dividing  his  forces,  and  while  one  division,  under  his 
own  command,  made  an  assault  in  front,  I  was  to 
lead  a  brigade  over  the  tops  of  the  bags  of  oats  still 
standing  against  the  wall  on  one  side  of  the  fort. 

With  a  loud  shout  the  assaulting  party  wished  on, 
while  I  led  my  forces  silently  over  the  grain-bags, 
intending  to  surprise  the  enemy.  But  Gen.  Jackson 
had  his  eyes  about  him,  and  immediately  detached  a 
portion  of  his  forces,  under  command  of  Si  Sumner, 
to  beat  us  off,  while  he  led  the  defence  in  front. 

Loud  were  the  shouts  and  dire  the  conflict  when 
the  contending  forces  met.  Thick  flew  the  dust  of 
the  battle  as  the  meal-bags  waved  in  air  and  fell  with 
many  a  whack  on  the  heads  and  shoulders  of  the 
assailants,  who,  being  compelled  to  fight  from  a 
much  lower  level,  were  at  a  disadvantage.  They, 
however,  contrived  to  give  the  defenders  of  the  fort 
many  a  wipe  in  the  face,  which  never  failed  to  leave 
a  mealy  impression. 

Meantime  my  attempt  at  a  surprise  had  ended  dis- 
astrously. The  grain-bags  afforded  but  an  insecure 


NEW    ACQUAINTANCES.  2/ 

footing,  and  Gen.  Sumner  met  our  advance  so  gal- 
lantly that,  together  with  one  half  my  forces  (in  the 
person  of  Jim  Norton),  I  was  thrown  to  the  ground. 

At  this  critical  moment  there  rushed  on  to  the 
field  of  battle  a  boy  with  a  flaming  red  head  and  a 
broad  grin  on  his  face,  who  shouted,  — 

"  Go  it,  boys,  I  'm  with  ye  ! " 

This  was  Tim    Bunce,  whose  perpetual  grimaces 
and  comical  antics  marked  him  as  the  clown  of  the 
neighborhood.      No    sooner    did    Gen.     Packenham . 
catch  sight  of  him  than  he  exclaimed,  — 

"  A  re-enforcement,  boys  !     Come  on,  Tim  !  " 

Nothing  loath,  Tim  grinned  and  bobbed  his  head, 
and  scraped  his  splay  foot,  shouting,  "  I  'm  going 
right  in  among  'em  !  "  With  this  he  made  a  dash  at 
the  fort,  and  in  attempting  to  climb  the  wall, 
grabbed  one  of  the  bags  of  oats  and  brought  it  down 
upon  his  own  head.  The  string  broke,  and  out 
poured  the  oats,  nearly  smothering  Tim. 

But  Gen.  Packenham  shouted,  "A  breach,  a 
breach  !  Now,  by  St.  George,  the  day  is  ours."  And 
heading  a  column,  made  a  dash  for  the  wall.  The 
defenders  filled  the  breach,  and  met  our  advance  in 
the  most  gallant  manner.  Meal-bags  were  now  dis- 
carded, and  fists  came  into  play.  Blows  rained  thick 
and  fast  on  our  defenceless  heads,  but  we  struck 
back  stoutly,  and  Tim  Bunce,  rising,  with  his  great 


28  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

shock  of  red  hair  filled  with  oats,  grasped  Si  Sumner 
by  the  leg,  and  brought  him  down  into  a  sitting  pos- 
ture with  a  terrible  thump.  Before  Si  could  regain 
his  breath,  Jim  Norton  seized  his  other  leg,  and 
the  two  brought  Si  down  upon  the  ground  with  a 
lamentable  rent  in  his  nether  garment,  which  had 
caught  on  a  nail  in  the  lid  of  the  grain-chest. 

"A  prisoner  !  A  wounded  prisoner  !  "  we  shouted, 
as  poor  Si,  with  a  very  crestfallen  air,  was  led  off 
and  placed  in  one  of  the  coaches  under  guard. 

At  this  moment  there  appeared  on  the  scene  a  tall, 
slim  boy,  who  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  carriage- 
room,  with  an  expression  of  mild  wonder  on  his  face 
and  a  huge  bag  on  his  back.  Gen.  Jackson,  catching 
sight  of  him,  shouted,  — 

"  A  re-enforcement  for  our  side !  We  want  you, 
Hay-bag ! "  and  reaching  down  from  the  wall  seized 
the  astonished  youth  by  the  collar,  and,  spite  of  his 
struggles  and  remonstrances,  dragged  him  into  the 
fort,  bag  and  all. 

The  new-comer  was  "  Hay-bag  "  Ross,  whose  father 
drove  one  of  those  long,  narrow  truck  teams  that 
used  to  block  up  the  whole  width  of  the  street  when 
turned  across  it  to  take  on  a  load.  His  sleepy  old 
horse  was  accustomed  to  stand  and  doze  in  the  shafts, 
which  were  supported  by  a  pole  which  hung  from  one 
of  them,  during  the  long  summer  afternoons,  in  front 


NEW   ACQUAINTANCES.  2Q 

of  the  furrier's  at  the  corner  of  the  street.  To  pro- 
vide provender  for  the  beast,  Hay-bag  was  sent  by 
his  father  with  a  bag  to  gather  up  the  wisps  of  hay 
left  by  the  teamsters  after  feeding  their  cattle  on  the 
wharves,  and  thus  gained  the  nickname  by  which  he 
was  known  among  the  boys.  On  this  occasi'on  he 
was  returning  from  one  of  these  forays  with  a  bag 
well  filled.  Gen.  Jackson  seized  upon  the  bag  to  fill 
the  breach  in  his  wall,  while  Hay-bag  stood  looking 
on,  the  picture  of  despair. 

The  bag  of  hay  was  not  so  solid  a  defence  as  the 
bag  of  oats  had  been,  and  Tim  Bunce  soon  whisked 
it  around  and  was  about  pulling  it  off  the  wall  when 
the  other  end  was  seized  by  the  defenders  of  the  fort 
In  the  struggle  the  hay  fell  out,  and  Gen.  Jackson, 
seizing  great  armfuls  of  it,  showered  it  down  upon 
our  heads  and  upturned  faces.  Half  smothered  by 
this  novel  ammunition,  we  withdrew  to  concert  a  new 
plan  of  attack. 

Gen.  Packenham  declared  that  the  wall  must  be 
scaled,  and  seizing  the  long  cross-bar  that  secured 
the  great  doors  of  the  stable,  he  placed  one  end  of  it 
on  the  ground  and  detailed  Tim  Bunce  to  hold  the 
other  end  against  the  top  of  the  wall  while  he  led  a 
forlorn  hope  up  this  scaling  ladder  into  "the  immi- 
nent deadly  breach."  He  had  already  advanced  half- 
way up  the  bar  when  Gen.  Jackson  gave  the  end 


30  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

resting  on  the  top  of  the  wall  a  vigorous  kick,  and 
down  it  went,  our  commander  falling  across  it  with  a 
violence  that  knocked  the  wind  out  of  him. 

"Are  -you  hurt,  Joe?"  said  Gen.  Jackson,  looking 
down  from  the  wall. 

"  Pretty  bad,"  groaned  Joe. 

"  Well,  never  mind,  you  Ve  got  to  die,  any  way. 
Gen.  Packenham  was  killed,  you  know." 

"  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  '11  die,"  retorted  Joe,  but  he 
had  no  stomach  for  further  fight. 

Our  general  being  thus  disabled,  the  leadership 
devolved  upon  me,  as  second  in  command.  Casting 
about  for  a  new  method  of  attack,  my  eyes  fell  upon 
the  pole  of  a  stage-coach  standing  in  the  back  part  of 
the  carriage-room,  in  a  direct  line  with  the  fort.  A 
new  idea  flashed  upon  me.  Calling  Jim  Norton  into 
conference  with  me,  I  proposed  using  the  stage-coach 
as  a  battering-ram.  Jim  was  a  little  dubious  about 
it,  but  I  told  him  I  had  read  about  battering-rams  in 
my  history  book ;  that  in  old  times  they  always  used 
them  when  besieging  a  city,  and  that  it  was  sure  to 
frighten  the  enemy  out  of  their  wits,  or  —  what  would 
be  still  better — out  of  the  fort. 

Much  impressed  with  my  superior  military  educa- 
tion, Jim  fell  into  the  plan,  and  we  proceeded  at  once 
to  put  it  into  execution. 

The  enemy  were  busily  engaged  in  strengthening 


NEW    ACQUAINTANCES.  31 

their  walls  with  more  bags  of  oats,  and  did  not  at 
first  observe  our  operations.  Detailing  Tim  Bunce 
to  manage  the  pole,  I  set  the  rest  of  my  forces  to 
pushing  the  coach  down  upon  the  fort,  while  I 
mounted  the  box  to  direct  operations. 

The  coach  was  heavy,  and  it  required  the  united 
strength  of  my  entire  army  to  start  it,  but  once  in 
motion  it  acquired  momentum  as  it  rolled  on.  Tim 
tugged  at  the  pole,  dancing  and  capering  about  it, 
declaring  that  he  was  "  a  whole  team  and  a  horse  to 
let,"  while  I,  standing  on  the  box,  in  all  the  majesty 
of  conscious  victory,  shouted,  — 

"  Surrender,  you  villains,  or  I  '11  knock  your  walls 
about  your  ears !  " 

Startled  by  Che  formidable  engine  coming  down 
upon  them,  the  enemy  began  to  scramble  out  of  the 
fort,  but  Gen.  Jackson  restrained  his  men  with  a 
strong  arm,  and  laughed  us  to  scorn. 

"  Come  on  with  your  one-horse  team,"  he  shouted. 

My  purpose  had  been  to  have  the  pole  strike  the 
bags  on  the  wall  of  the  fort,  and  thus  make  a  breach, 
through  which  we  were  to  rush  in  while  the  enemy 
were  in  a  demoralized  condition.  But  Tim  could  not 
elevate  the  pole  sufficiently  to  strike  the  bags,  and 
the  result  was  that  it  went  crashing  into  the  side  of 
the  grain-chest,  staving  a  great  hole  in  it. 

The  shock  threw  the  garrison  off  their  feet,  some 


32  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

tumbling  down  to  the  ground,  while  I  was  knocked 
flat  on  to  the  top  of  the  coach. 

Before  I  could  regain  my  feet  I  heard  a  gruff  voice 
exclaiming,  "What  does  all  this  mean  ?"  and  looking 
over  the  side  of  the  coach  I  saw  the  burly  figure  of 
Joe  Jameson's  father,  who  had  charge  of  the  stable, 
entering  the  door  with  a  whip  in  his  hand.  At  that 
moment  Gen.  Jackson  was  descending  from  the  walls 
of  his  demolished  fort ;  and  as  he  had  the  reputation 
of  being  the  leader  in  all  mischief  going  on,  Mr. 
Jameson  seized  him  by  the  collar  and  began  to  ply 
his  whip  vigorously  about  Ben's  legs.  Ben  danced 
and  shouted,  "  It  was  n't  me,  Mr.  Jameson,  it  was 
Harry  Ingersoll,"  meaning  me. 

I  thought  it  was  now  time  to  beat  a  retreat  ;  par- 
ticularly as  my  army,  deeming  discretion  the  better 
part  of  valor,  had  already  retired  in  disorder,  some 
hiding  in  the  coaches  in  the  dark  corners,  while 
others  scuttled  out  of  the  door.  Crawling  down  over 
the  rear  of  the  coach,  I  dodged  behind  another  car- 
riage, and  made  my  way  out  of  a  back  door  that 
overlooked  the  manure  heap.  Scrambling  over  this, 
I  jumped  down  into  my  grandfather's  garden. 

I  was  proceeding  up  the  garden,  congratulating  my- 
self that  I  had  retired  in  good  order,  when  I  heard  a 
voice  crying,  — 

"  Help  a  feller  down,  won't  ye,  Harry  ? " 


NEW    ACQUAINTANCES.         •  $3 

Looking  up,  I  espied  Tim  Bunce  hanging  by  the 
seat  of  his  trousers  near  the  top  of  a  stack  of  bean- 
poles. The  poles  had  been  placed  on  end,  leaning 
against  the  stable  wall,  their  tops  nearly  reaching  to 
a  small  door  that  opened  out  of  the  carriage-room, 
whichon  this  side  of  the  stable  was  high  above  the 
ground.  Tim  in  his  hasty  retreat  had  jumped  out  of 
this  door  on  to  the  tops  of  the  poles,  and  in  trying  to 
make  his  way  down  them  had  been  caught  in  the  rear 
by  a  sharp  spur  on  one  of  the  poles. 

"  Why,  Tim,"  said  I,  "  what  are  you  doing  up 
there  ?  " 

"  Hanging  up  to  dry,"  he  replied,  with  a  grimace  ; 
"  but  say,  can't  ye  help  a  feller  down  ? " 

"  Hush  !  you  '11  call  Mr.  Jameson  to  that  door,  with 
his  whip." 

Poor  Tim  cast  one  eye  up  at  the  door  and  the 
other  to  the  ground  below,  and  gave  another  wrig- 
gle, but  all  in  vain. 

"  I  can't  reach  you,  Tim,  but  I  '11  call  grand- 
mother." 

"  Don't  call  your  grandmarm,"  replied  Tim,  with  an 
agonized  grin  ;  "  I  s'pose  I  'm  all  tore  out  behind  !  " 

Just  then,  sure  enough,  Mr.  Jameson  appeared  at 
the  door  above.  "  Oh,  ho  !  "  said  he,  "  you  are  there, 
are  you  ?  Just  hang  on,  Tim,  till  I  call  round  for 
you  ! " 

3 


34  THE   BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

The  prospect  of  such  a  call  was  more  than  Tim 
could  endure.  He  writhed  and  struggled,  something 
gave  way,  and  down  he  came  on  all  fours. 

"  Are  you  hurt,  Tim  ? "  I  asked,  with  some  con- 
cern, spite  of  the  comical  appearance  he  cut. 

"No,  but  I  'spect  I  shall  be  if  I  stop  here."  And 
with  that  he  scuttled  away  out  of  the  garden. 


THE  GRAMMAR  SCHOOL  FOR  BOYS.        35 


CHAPTER   III. 

I    ENTER   THE    GRAMMAR   SCHOOL    FOR    BOYS. 

IT  was  with  quaking  hearts  that  six  of  us  boys 
one  morning  approached  the  door  of  Master  Gor- 
ham's  grammar  school.  We  had  purposely  absented 
ourselves  from  the  annual  examination,  but  had  now 
been  sent  by  Miss  Cummings,  the  teacher  of  the 
primary  school,  to  pass  a  supplementary  examination  ; 
so  we  had  gained  nothing  by  staying  away,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  had  a  more  terrible  ordeal  to  pass  than 
if  we  had  attended  the  examination  at  the  proper 
time.  I  have  learned  since  that  nothing  is  ever 
gained  by  shirking  a  trial  or  a  task,  and  that  those 
get  on  best  who  meet  every  duty  promptly. 

We  approached  the  school-house  at  a  snail's  pace, 
with  fear  and  trembling.  It  was  a  long,  low  brick 
building  of  one  story,  with  a  double  row  of  posts  in 
front,  set  so  that  it  was  necessary  to  twist  and  turn 
in  order  to  pass  between  them.  I  never  knew  why 
they  were  thus  placed,  unless  it  was  to  symbolize  the 
difficulty  of  getting  into  the  grammar  school,  or  to 
encourage  the  boys  in  the  practice  of  gymnastic 
exercises.  The  usual  custom  of  the  boys  when 


36  THE   BOYS   OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

rushing  out  of  school  was  to  place  each  hand  on  a 
post  and  leap  over  the  outside  row.  We,  however, 
were  content  to  worm  our  way  in  between  them,  and 
would  have  been  glad,  on  the  whole,  if  we  had  stuck 
fast  among  them. 

As  we  entered  the  vestibule  that  ran  across  the 
whole  width  of  the  building,  we  saw  a  placard  hang- 
ing under  a  small  window  that  looked  in  upon  the 
master's  desk,  with  the  word  "  Late  "  upon  it.  After 
this  placard  was  hung  out  no  tardy  scholar  could  find 
admittance.  We  were  tardy  enough,  but  we  knew 
the  sign  was  not  for  us  and  so  knocked  timidly  at 
the  door. 

A  monitor  gave  us  admission,  and  we  found  our- 
selves in  the  dread  presence  of  the  master  and  one 
hundred  and  fifty  school-boys,  all  peeping  furtively  at 
us  from  behind  their  books.  We  were  presently 
ranged  in  a  row  in  the  aisle,  and  the  master  heard 
each  read  a  passage  in  "Worcester's  Third  Book"; 
then  each  was  given  a  sum  in  arithmetic  to  solve, 
after  which  we  were  assigned  to  seats  on  the  lower 
benches  nearest  the  master's  desk.  The  more  ad- 
vanced scholars,  according  to  their  rank,  sat  farther 
back  on  the  higher  benches,  the  floor  inclining 
towards  the  doors,  which  were  placed  on  each  side 
of  the  master's  desk.  The  benches,  without  backs, 
but  with  desks  in  front  of  them,  ran  across  the  width 


THE    GRAMMAR    SCHOOL    FOR    BOYS.  3/ 

of  the  school-room,  leaving  space  at  each  end  for  an 
aisle  and  also  for  a  line  of  single  desks  placed  at 
intervals  against  the  walls. 

These  single  desks  were  occupied  by  the  monitors, 
for  the  school  was  conducted  on  the  Lancastrian 
plan,  then  in  great  vogue  as  an  economic  and  effec- 
tive method  of  enabling  one  master  to  teach  any 
number  of  scholars, —  from  one  hundred  to  a  thou- 
sand. This  mutual  or  monitorial  plan  was  thought 
to  be  an  admirable  method  of  converting  pupils  into 
teachers.  The  more  advanced  scholars  taught  those 
less  advanced,  and  so  saved  the  expense  of  assistant 
teachers.  There  was  great  enthusiasm  about  this 
system,  both  in  England  and  in  this  country,  and  its 
introduction  by  Joseph  Lancaster  gave  an  impetus 
to  popular  education  in  both  countries.  It  did  not 
produce  the  highest  results,  but  it  led  to  the  adoption 
of  a  better  system. 

In  Master  Gorham's  school  the  Lancastrian  plan 
was  principally  applied  to  the  reading  exercises. 
The  whole  school  was  divided  in  "drafts,"  distrib- 
uted among  the  monitors  occupying  the  side  desks 
and  the  head  monitor's  desk  at  the  rear  end  of  the 
room.  All  the  drafts  were  heard  at  the  same  time, 
and  as  one  boy  was  reading  aloud  in  each  simulta- 
neously with  a  boy  in  all  the  others,  —  some  twenty 
or  thirty  in  number,  —  there  was  a  rare  hubbub  dur- 


38  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

ing  the  reading  exercise.  A  passer-by  might  have 
thought  bedlam  had  broken  loose. 

Yet  the  general  confusion  of  tongues  did  not  dis- 
turb the  exercises  of  each  draft.  The  boys  stood 
around  the  desk  of  the  monitor,  in  a  semicircle, 
extending  from  the  wall  of  the  school-house  on  one 
side  of  the  desk  to  the  other  side,  and  being  thus 
shut  in  among  themselves,  paid  no  attention  to  what 
was  going  on  in  the  other  drafts. 

For  the  preservation  of  order  a  special  monitor 
was  appointed  whose  duty  it  was  to  walk  around  the 
aisles  during  the  reading  exercise,  and  to  whom  the 
reading  monitors  reported  any  act  of  insubordination 
or  infringement  of  rules.  On  the  raised  platform  on 
which  stood  the  master's  desk  there  were  two  lower 
desks,  one  on  each  side  of  his,  occupied  by  four  mon- 
itors, whose  duty  it  was  to  keep  an  oversight  of  the 
school,  and  call  out  any  boy  who  might  be  detected 
in  mischief  or  neglecting  his  studies. 

A  certain  number  of  benches  were  also  given  in 
charge  of  a  monitor  during  the  exercise  in  penman- 
ship. While  this  was  going  on  the  master  sat  on  his 
high  stool  at  his  desk  making  and  mending  quill 
pens.  When  a  scholar  grew  tired  of  writing,  or 
thought  his  pen  needed  mending,  he  held  up  his 
hand  and  the  monitor  came  and  mended  his  pen  or 
corrected  his  position  in  holding  it. 


THE    GRAMMAR    SCHOOL    FOR    BOYS.  39 

On  the  memorable  day  of  my  entrance  into  this 
temple  of  learning,  Jim  Norton  and  I  were  assigned 
seats  together  on  one  of  the  long  benches.  The  boy 
whose  seat  was  next  to  mine  welcomed  me  with  a 
hideous  grimace,  which  I  resented  with  a  scowl. 
Presently  I  saw  him  dexterously  twitch  a  hair  from 
the  head  of  the  boy  on  the  other  side  of  him.  The 
boy  thus  assaulted  seemed  accustomed  to  these  little 
eccentricities  of  his  seat-mate,  for  he  merely  rubbed 
his  scalp  and  shrank  farther  away  from  his  tormentor. 
Not  long  after,  while  my  attention  was  turned  in 
another  direction,  I  felt  a  sharp  twinge,  and  turning 
my  head  quickly  I  became  aware  that  my  ingenious 
companion  had  employed  the  hair  so  feloniously 
obtained  in  sawing  my  ear.  I  immediately  seized 
his  ear  and  gave  it  a  twist  that  caused  him  to  howl 
with  pain.  In  an  instant  I  was  started  by  the  cry 
of,- 

"  Ingersoll !  " 

The  monitor  had  witnessed  our  little  by-play,  and 
I  was  called  out  to  await  condign  punishment.  How 
my  heart  sank  within  me  as  I  saw  the  master 
approaching  and  glaring  at  me  over  his  spectacles ! 
He  was  a  short,  thick-set  man,  irreverently  nick- 
named "  Duck-Legs  "  by  the  boys. 

"  Hold  out  your  hand,"  said  he. 

I     advanced     a     timid     palm,     but     immediately 


4O  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

snatched  it  away"  again  as  the  ferule  was  about  to 
descend  upon  it,  getting  only  a  rap  upon  the 
knuckles. 

"  Go  to  your  seat,  sir,  and  don't  let  me  hear  from 
you  again."  Glad  of  any  dismissal,  I  crept  back  to 
my  seat,  to  be  greeted  with  a  diabolical  leer  by  my 
friend  of  the  hair.  I  began  to  hate  that  boy,  and  as 
I  passed  behind  him  to  my  seat  I  gave  his  hair  a 
twitch  which  caused  him  to  give  his  immediate 
attention  to  his  book. 

When  the  hour  of  recess  arrived  we  tumbled  out 
into  the  school-yard  in  a  tumultuous  crowd.  Feel- 
ing a  little  lonesome  among  so  many  strange  boys,  Si 
Sumner,  Jim  Norton,  and  I  got  together  in  a  corner  to 
compare  notes. 

"What's  the  name  of  that  fellow  who  sits  next 
me  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  That 's  Bully  Hawkins,"  replied  Si;  "he's  the 
worst  boy  in  school." 

"  Well,  he  won't  bully  me,"  was  my  reply. 

At  this  moment  Ben  Hunter,  who  had  entered  the 
school  at  the  previous  term,  and  felt  himself  quite  at 
home  in  it,  approached  and  cried  out,  — 

"  Look  here,  Harry,  Bully  Hawkins  is  after  you. 
He  says  he's  bound  to  give  you  a  thrashing,  but 
don't  you  be  afraid  of  him." 

"  Who 's  afraid  ? "  I   replied,  with  an   assumption 


THE  GRAMMAR  SCHOOL  FOR  BOYS.        4! 

of  courage  I  by  no  means  felt.  I  determined  not  to 
seek  a  quarrel  with  Hawkins,  but  not  to  submit  to 
any  bullying  by  him. 

The  yard  was  by  this  time  all  alive  with  boys  racing 
across  it,  and  seeing  Joe  Jameson  among  them,  I  ran 
to  join  him.  On  my  way  I  happened  to  pass  by 
Bully  Hawkins,  who  put  out  his  foot  and  tripped  me 
up,  so  that  I  fell  headlong  to  the  ground.  Rising 
again,  not  much  hurt,  but  wild  with  rage,  I  dashed  at 
my  tormentor,  who  stood  at  a  little  distance  with  an 
insolent  grin  upon  his  ugly  mug.  He  was  startled 
by  my  sudden  onset,  but  stood  his  ground  and  returned 
blow  for  blow. 

"  A  ring  !  a  ring  !  "  shouted  the  boys  who  saw  this 
sudden  engagement,  while  Ben  Hunter  cried  out,  — 

"  Fair  play,  boys.     Give  it  to  him,  Harry  ! " 

My  blood  was  up,  and  Hawkins  was  hardly  pre- 
pared for  so  impetuous  an  assault.  He  was  a  stout 

fellow,  but  was  n't  so  mad  as  I  was,  and  besides,  had 

• 

the  consciousness  of  being  in  the  wrong  I  went 
into  close  quarters  with  him,  in  a  rough-and-tumble 
fight,  and  his  superior  strength  was  beginning  to  tell 
against  me,  when  I  hit  him  a  blow  on  the  nose  that 
set  it  bleeding,  and  caused  him  to  yell  with  pain. 
I  followed  this  up  with  blows  about  his  head  and 
ears,  when  he  cried  "  Enough !  "  and  slunk  out  of 
the  ring. 


42  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

The  boys,  many  of  whom  had  been  the  victims  of 
his  tyranny,  set  up  a  shout,  and  my  friends  clustered 
around  me  and  congratulated  me  on  my  victory.  I 
was  the  hero  of  the  hour,  while  poor  Bully  was  wip- 
ing his  nose  in  a  corner.  One  small  boy  said,  — 

"  That  pays  him  for  pinching  me." 

Another  shouted,  — 

"  Hurrah  for  Harry ;  he 's  whipped  Bully  Haw- 
kins!" 

All  except  a  small  cluster  of  his  cronies  were  ready 
to  rejoice  over  Hawkins's  defeat.  He  seemed  to  feel 
this  more  than  the  flogging  he  had  got,  and  casting 
a  contemptuous  and  defiant  glance  at  the  exulting 
crowd,  he  came  forward,  with  his  handkerchief  at  his 
nose,  and  said  to  me,  — 

"  Ingersoll,  you  fight  like  a  tiger,  but  I  guess  you 
gave  me  about  what  I  deserved.  I  'm  willing  to  be 
friends  if  you  are." 

These  frank  words  caused  an  immediate  revulsion 
of  my  feelings  towards  him,  and  grasping  his  hand  I 
exclaime  — 

"  All  right,  Hawkins ;  I  hope  you  are  not  much 
hurt." 

The  boys  set  up  a  shout  at  this  scene  of  reconcilia- 
tion, and  as  the  bell  rang  at  this  moment  we  all  went 
tumbling  into  school  again. 

There  was  a  monitor  of  the  school-yard,  whose  duty 


THE  GRAMMAR  SCHOOL  FOR  BOYS.        43 

it  was  at  recess  time  to  set  down,  slate  in  hand,  the 
names  of  those  boys  who  made  a  disturbance  or  were 
loud  and  boisterous  in  their  play,  to  be  reported  to 
the  master. 

Charlie  Gardiner  was  monitor  on  this  occasion,  but 
he  took  care  to  keep  out  of  the  way  and  see  nothing 
of  the  fight  between  Hawkins  and  myself. 

"Gardiner,"  said  Master  Gorham,  "there  was  a 
great  noise  during  recess,  and  I  must  punish  you  for 
making  no  report  of  it." 

Thereupon  Charlie  was  feruled  for  the  first  and  last 
time  in  his  life,  while  Hawkins  and  I,  who  had  been 
the  guilty  cause  of  all  the  disturbance,  escaped  scot 
free.  Thus  impartially  is  justice  administered  in  this 
world. 

After  this  introduction  I  got  on  well  with  the  boys, 
and  soon  began  to  take  an  interest  in  my  studies.  It 
was  not  all  fun  at  Master  Gorham's  school.  He  was  a 
strict  disciplinarian,  and  when  seated  at  his  high  desk, 
with  his  monitors  on  either  side  of  him,  he  was  like 
a  general  on  the  battle-field,  keeping  his  forces  well 
in  hand.  Then  the  school  was  on  its  good  behavior, 
and  every  boy  was  busy  with  his  books.  Somehow 
a  gleam  of  the  master's  eye  made  us  all  very  diligent, 
and  we  took  rapid  strides  up  the  hill  of  knowledge, — 
for  a  time.  There  were,  however,  moments  of  relax- 
ation. Of  an  afternoon  it  was  the  master's  wont  to 


44  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

thrust  his  broken  cowhide,  doubled  up  like  a  whip 
with  its  lash,  into  his  pocket,  both  ends  sticking  out, 
and  waddle  up  the  school-room  to  the  upper  benches, 
where  he  gave  his  attention  to  the  more  advanced 
scholars. 

We  boys  on  the  lower  benches,  though  still  under 
the  eyes  of  the  vigilant  monitors,  were  then  left 
pretty  much  to  our  own  devices.  How  lazily  the 
hours  dragged  along  on  those  sunny  afternoons,  as 
we  loitered  over  our  books,  with  an  occasional  diver- 
sion into  other  studies  than  those  laid  down  for  our 
pursuit  ! 

It  was  on  one  of  those  drowsy  afternoons  that  I 
heard  a  half-suppressed  giggle  ripple  over  the  benches 
behind  me,  and  turning  my  head,  caught  sight  for  an 
instant  of  a  spectacle  that  nearly  sent  me  off  into  a 
loud  guffaw.  In  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of  the 
school-room  there  was  a  small  closet  partitioned  off 
with  boards.  The  tradition  in  the  school  was  that 
this  was  a  prison  pen  for  the  confinement  of  truants 
and  other  incorrigible  offenders,  but  I  never  knew 
it  to  be  put  to  such  a  use.  We  smaller  boys 
stood  in  some  awe  of  it,  and  had  never  ventured  to 
peep  into  it.  High  up  on  that  side  of  the  closet, 
looking  down  the  school-room,  was  a  small  round  hole 
in  the  wall,  presumably  made  for  the  admission  of 
air  and  light.  What  I  saw  on  turning  my  head  was 


THE  GRAMMAR  SCHOOL  FOR  BOYS.        45 

a  comical,  grimacing  face  at  this  hole,  surmounted 
by  a  tuft  of  fiery  red  hair,  which  seemed  to  leave  a 
streak  of  light  behind  it  as  the  face  quickly  vanished. 

All  the  boys  on  the  benches  in  my  neighborhood 
were  instantly  on  the  alert  to  catch  another  glimpse 
of  this  comical  visitant.  Presently  the  face  again 
appeared,  with  a  more  diabolical  grimace  than  before, 
and  the  titter  among  the  boys  became  louder  than  at 
first ;  it  attracted  the  attention  of  the  monitors,  who 
looked  around  in  vain  for  the  cause  of  it.  We  boys 
at  once  bent  studiously  over  our  books,  still,  how- 
ever, casting  a  furtive  glance  over  our  shoulders  in 
the  direction  of  the  closet.  Once  more  the  mysteri- 
ous visage  appeared,  and  being  observed  this  time  by 
a  larger  number  of  the  scholars  than  at  first,  an  irre- 
pressible laugh  went  up. 

Master  Gorham  was  at  once  aroused  and  instantly 
demanded  the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  As  he  was 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  school-room,  beyond  the  line 
of  the  closet,  he  could  not  see  the  orifice  in  its  wall, 
and  the  monitors,  not  having  observed  the  face,  could 
not  account  for  the  merriment  among  the  boys,  nor 
could  they  call  out  a  whole  bench  at  once.  The 
matter  grew  more  mysterious  every  moment,  and 
there  was  a  threatening  aspect  in  the  master's  face 
as  he  strode  down  the  school-room  to  investigate  the 
cause  of  this  untimely  merriment. 


46  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

All  eyes  were  now  directed  towards  the  orifice  in 
the  closet  wall.  Presently  the  face  appeared  again, 
this  time  directing  contemptuous  grimaces  towards 
the  master,  whose  back  was  turned  towards  it  as  he 
hurried  down  the  aisle.  The  boys  were  now  nearly 
beyond  control.  Some  rose  in  their  seats ;  others 
laughed  aloud.  The  master,  turning  quickly  around, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  visage  as  it  disappeared  from 
the  hole.  At  that  moment,  just  as  a  feeling  of  awe 
was  creeping  over  the  boys,  and  silence  reigned,  a 
tremendous  crash  was  heard.  The  master  rushed  to 
the  closet  door,  tore  it  open,  and  instantly  dragged 
out  by  the  collar  the  shrinking  figure  of  Tim  Bunce. 

The  boys  were  now  all  on  their  feet.  "Sit  down  !" 
shouted  the  master  as  he  dragged  Tim  down  the  aisle 
and  set  him  on  his  feet  in  front  of  the  desk.  We 
dropped  into  our  seats,  but  kept  our  eyes  fastened  on 
the  scene  in  front  of  us. 

"  How  came  you  in  that  closet,  sir  ? "  said  the  mas- 
ter, who  by  this  time  had  drawn  his  cowhide  from 
his  pocket. 

"I  —  I  went  in,"  replied  Tim,  very  humbly,  at  the 
same  time  casting  a  squint  at  the  boys  from  the  cor- 
ner of  his  eye  that  nearly  upset  our  gravity  again. 

"And  what  did  you  go  in  for,  sir  ?" 

"Ju-just  to  see  how  it  would  seem." 

"  Well,  siivyou  '11  now  learn  how  it  seems  to  get  a 


THE    GRAMMAR   SCHOOL    FOR    BOYS.  4/ 

cowhiding."  And  with  that  the  lash  came  down  on 
Tim's  back,  and  he  began  to  caper  about  in  a  way  that 
made  it  difficult  for  the  master  to  control  him,  but 
he  got  a  terrible  thrashing  and  was  sent  howling  to 
his  seat. 

It  appeared  that  he  had  stolen  into  the  closet 
before  the  arrival  of  the  master,  and  finding  there  a 
broken  bench,  had  placed  it  againsjt  the  wall  and 
climbed  upon  it.  When  once  he  looked  out  of  the 
hole  it  was  not  in  Tim's  nature  to  resist  making  faces, 
and  the  rest  followed  as  a  matter  of  course.  The 
crash  heard  was  occasioned  by  the  beYich  slipping  out 
from  under  him  and  throwing  him  down  upon  the 
floor. 

Poor  Tim !  he  was  the  occasion  of  a  good  deal  of 
fun,  much  of  which  was  involuntary  on  his  part.  He 
was  not  a  brilliant  scholar,  and  stumbled  sadly  in  his 
reading.  I  remember  on  one  occasion  we  were  read- 
ing in  the  draft  of  James  Moore,  the  head  monitor, 
when  the  lesson  was  in  "  Worcester's  Fourth  Book," 
being  Goldsmith's  account  of  the  golden  eagle.  Of 
this  proud  bird  it  was  said,  "  How  hungry  soever 
he  may  be,  he  never  stoops  to  carrion."  It  fell  to 
Tim  to  read  this  paragraph,  which  he  rendered  thus, 
"How  —  hungry — soever  he  may  be — he  never 
stops  to  carry  on." 

"  He  would  be  a  fool  to  stop  to  carry  on  while  he 
was  hungry,"  said  Moore,  whereat  we  all  laughed. 


48  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

But  Tim  was  not  the  author  of  all  the  mischief 
going  on,  however  fertile  he  might  be  in  blunders. 
'  What  do  you  think,  boys,"  said  little  Ed  Thompson, 
one  day,  "  there 's  been  a  row  over  on  Cotton  Street, 
and  Ben  Hunter  was  n't  in  it !  "  This  was  almost  in- 
credible, for  every  piece  of  mischief  was  charged 
upon  Ben,  and  he  seldom  took  the  trouble  to  deny  it. 
Ben  had  a  cool  assurance,  an  amount  of  "  cheek,"  as 
we  should  now  say,  that  carried  him  through  every- 
thing. 

There  was  a  cellar  under  the  school-house,  in 
which  was  stored  the  wood  burned  in  the  box  stoves 
for  the  heating  of  the  school-room  in  the  winter  term. 
It  was  the  custom  of  the  master  to  appoint  two  boys, 
in  turn,  to  build  the  fires  of  a  morning.  One  day, 
when  Ben  Hunter  and  Joe  Jameson  had  performed 
that  task,  Joe  said  to  me,  with  a  mysterious  wink,  — 

"  You  '11  see  some  fun  to-day." 

"  What 's  up  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Never  you  mind,  you  '11  hear  something  that  '11 
astonish  old  Duck-Legs." 

As  the  school-bell  rang  at  that  moment  I  was  forced 
to  be  content  with  this  mysterious  intimation  of 
some  impending  event  of  a  startling  character.  The 
forenoon  passed  away,  and  nothing  remarkable  hap- 
pened. I  noticed,  however,  at  recess,  that  Joe  and 
Ben  held  a  whispered  conference  and  oarted  with  the 
injunction  from  Ben,  — 


THE  GRAMMAR  SCHOOL  FOR  BOYS.        49 

"  Keep  dark  ! " 

The  afternoon  session  was  wearing  away,  and  I 
begun  to  lose  faith  in  Joe's  prognostications,  when  at 
a  moment  in  which  no  classes  were  reciting,  and  all 
was  quiet,  there  was  heard  a  startling  crash,  followed 
by  a  rattling  and  rumbling,  as  though  all  the  long 
stove-pipes  that  ran  overhead  had  tumbled  down. 
The  scholars  all  started  and  looked  around. 

"  Ingersoll,"  said  'the  master,  "  go  down  cellar  and 
see  what  has  caused  this  disturbance." 

Not  without  much  trepidation  I  proceeded  to  obey. 
The  cellar  was  a  dark  and  pokerish  place,  and  as  I 
stumbled  about  in  it  I  expected  every  moment  to  be 
seized  by  some  hidden  intruder.  As  my  eyes 
adapted  themselves  to  the  dim  light,  I  peered  cau- 
tiously about,  but  saw  nothing  save  a  pile  of  old, 
disused  stove-pipe,  lying  innocently  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor.  Returning  above  ground,  I  reported  no- 
body in  the  cellar. 

The  words  had  scarcely  passed  my  lips  when  rat- 
tlety-bang !  came  another  clashing  of  the  dead  stove- 
pipes, as  though  they  were  all  dancing  a  hornpipe 
over  the  cellar  floor.  The  master  eyed  me  sternly 
and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Come  down  stairs  with  me,  sir  ! "  Down  we  went, 
I  taking  care  to  fall  into  the  rear.  Nothing  was  to 
be  seen  save  the  bewitched  stove-pipes,  demurely 
4 


5<D  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

huddling  together  as  before.  The  master  examined 
them  carefully,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  life  in 
them,  —  nothing  but  old  rusty  sheet-iron,  condemned 
and  useless.  He  peered  about  in  the  corners  of  the 
cellar,  and  behind  the  wood-piles,  but  nobody  was 
hidden  there. 

"Very  strange  !"  muttered  the  master  as  we  went 
up  the  stairs.  I  began  to  feel  as  though  something 
was  behind  me,  and  this  time  would  rather  not  have 
been  in  the  rear. 

School  was  dismissed,  and  on  the  way  home  all  the 
boys  were  talking  of  the  mysterious  noises.  Ben 
Hunter  said  he  believed  the  cellar  was  haunted;  he'd 
seen  something  down  there  that  looked  like  a  ghost. 

"  Well,"  said  Si  Sumner,  whose  turn  it  was  to  build 
the  fire  next  morning,  "  I  'm  not  going  down  into  a 
haunted  cellar,  anyway." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Si,"  remarked  Joe  Jameson.  "  The 
ghost  won't  hurt  you.  He 's  after  old  Duck-Legs. 
I  would  n't  wonder  if  't  was  the  ghost  of  some  boy  he 
flogged  to  death  long  ago." 

"  I  heard  tell  of  a  boy  that  died  once  after  he  was 
flogged,"  said  little  Ed  Thompson,  his  eyes  sticking 
out  of  his  head  with  wonder  and  awe. 

"  'T  would  have  been  funny  if  he  had  n't,"  said 
Ben  Hunter,  giving  a  sly  look  at  Joe  Jameson. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  thought  I,  "  this  is  your  game,  is  it  ?  " 


THE  GRAMMAR  SCHOOL  FOR  BOYS.        5 1 

But  I  said  nothing.  Strangely  enough,  it  had  not 
before  occurred  to  me  to  connect  the  mysterious 
noises  with  Joe  Jameson's  prediction.  Now  I 
thought  I  would  wait  and  see  what  came  of  it  all. 

Next  day  there  was  no  recurrence  of  the  noises. 
Si  Sumner,  when  questioned  if  he  had  heard  any- 
thing in  the  morning,  said  he  brought  an  armful  of 
wood  from  home  ;  he  did  n't  go  down  into  the  cellar 
until  after  the  boys  had  begun  to  arrive. 

Days  passed  on,  and  we  were  beginning  to  lose  faith 
in  the  ghost  in  the  cellar,  when  one  forenoon  there 
was  a  crash  and  rattle  that  set  us  all  agog  again. 
Plainly  the  noise  came  from  the  cellar,  though  when 
one  of  the  older  boys  was  sent  down  he  reported  no- 
body there  and  all  quiet.  The  master  said  nothing, 
but  he  looked  very  grim.  At  noon,  when  school  was 
dismissed,  it  was  noticed  by  some  of  the  boys,  who 
lagged  behind,  that  he  did  not  leave  the  school-house 
as  usual. 

At  the  afternoon  session  the  school  was  called  to 
order.  The  master  stood  behind  his  desk  and  glared 
over  the  room.  We  all  felt  that  something  terrible 
was  about  to  happen,  and  you  might  have  heard  a 
pin  drop. 

"Hunter,"  said  the  master,  "you  will  come  to  the 
desk." 

Ben  marched  down  with  his  customary  swagger. 


52  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  I  understand  you  have  seen  a  ghost  in  the  cel- 
lar !  "  said  the  master. 

"  Something  like  it,"  replied  Ben,  nothing  daunted. 

"  Did  it  look  like  this  ?  "  continued  the  master, 
taking  a  brick  from  under  his  desk  and  holding  it  up 
before  Ben's  eyes. 

"  N-no,  sir,"  he  replied,  a  little  staggered. 

"  Well,  did  you  ever  see  this  brick  before  ?  " 

"  Can't  say,  sir ;  I  've  seen  a  great  many  bricks,  and 
they  all  look  very  much  alike."  Cool  as  a  cucumber 
was  Ben. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  brick  with  a  long  string  tied 
to  it,  like  this  ?  " 

"  Y-yes,  sir,"  said  Ben,  beginning  to  falter  a  little 
again. 

"  And  did  the  string  run  down  through  a  hole  in 
the  floor  under  your  desk  ?" 

"  I  believe  it  did,  sir,"  replied  Ben,  who  with  all  his 
faults  would  not  tell  a  lie. 

"And  was  it  your  custom  to  amuse  yourself  by 
dropping  this  brick,  by  means  of  this  string,  down 
upon  the  pile  of  stove-pipe  in  the  cellar  ? " 

Ben  could  scarcely  resist  a  grin  as  he  replied, 
"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  sir,  you  will  go  to  your  seat  and  remain 
after  school  is  dismissed." 

The  secret  was  out !     The  mystery  was  explained  ! 


THE    GRAMMAR    SCHOOL    FOR    BOYS,  53 

Ben,  as  usual,  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  mischief. 
But  what  would  the  master  do  to  him  ?  we  asked 
each  other,  as  we  went  home,  leaving  him  alone  in 
the  dread  presence.  We  doubted  not  that  some  ter- 
rible punishment  awaited  him,  but  nothing  had  Ben 
to  say  when  we  met  him  next  morning. 

"  Well,  Ben,  what  did  the  ghost  say  to  you  ? " 
inquired  Si  Sumner,  somewhat  quizzically. 

"  He  said  you  were  the  brave  boy  who  did  n't  dare 
to  meet  him  in  the  cellar ! "  retorted  Ben. 

Si  looked  a  little  sheepish,  and  asked  no  more 
questions.  He  was  always,  after  this,  a  little  sensi- 
tive about  that  ghost. 

"  But,  Ben,  how  did  the  master  find  you  out  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  That  was  my  confounded  carelessness.  After  I 
had  dropped  the  brick  on  the  stove-pipe  I  used  to 
draw  it  up,  and  tieing  the  string  to  a  nail  in  my  desk 
let  the  brick  hang  close  to  the  under  side  of  the 
floor,  where,  in  the  darkness  of  the  cellar,  nobody 
would  see  it.  But  that  day  I  was  called  out  to  recite 
before  I  had  time  to  pull  the  brick  up,  and  when  I 
came  back  to  my  seat  I  forgot  it.  So  the  brick 
remained  on  the  cellar  floor  among  the  stove-pipes. 
At  noon  Master  Gorham  went  down  cellar  poking 
about,  and  found  the  brick  with  the  string  leading 
up  through  a  gimlet-hole  in  the  floor  to  my  seat. 
And  that 's  how  he  found  out  who  was  the  ghost." 


54  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

Whatever  the  master  said  or  did  to  Ben,  it  had  a 
good  effect  upon  him.  He  cut  up  no  more  pranks  in 
school,  and  took  a  high  rank  in  his  studies. 

How  long  my  school-days  seemed  !  but  looking 
back  upon  them  now,  how  rapidly  they  glided  away ! 
I  can  see  myself  now  sitting  on  the  long,  hard,  back- 
less bench  through  the  sunny  afternoons,  at  times 
applying  myself  to  my  studies,  and  at  times  thinking 
how  jolly  it  would  be  to  go  in  swimming  "back  of 
the  Neck."  Vacations  were  then  few  and  short. 
We  had  but  a  fortnight  in  the  year.  After  "  exam- 
ination day"  had  passed,  when  the  committee  came 
and  heard  our  recitations,  and  made  their  speeches, 
the  master  would  call  us  to  order,  and  we  all  sat 
upright  in  our  seats,  —  even  long  and  lank  Jim 
Applebee,  who  always  leaned  against  the  wall  in  the 
draft,  or  back  against  the  desk  behind  him  when  in 
his  seat,  —  and  were  silent  and  expectant. 

Then  the  master,  standing  at  his  high  desk,  would 
make  us  a  little  speech  about  our  conduct  during  the 
coming  vacation,  and  dismiss  us  with  the  hope  of 
seeing  us  all  again  at  our  books  when  it  was  over. 
At  the  tap  of  the  ruler  we  marched  out  in  due  order, 
scarcely  able  to  contain  ourselves  until  we  reached 
the  vestibule,  when,  with  a  whoop  and  a  hurrah,  we 
leaped  over  the  double  row  of  posts  and  scampered 
off  to  our  homes. 


THE   GLORIOUS   FOURTH.  55 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    GLORIOUS    FOURTH. 

"  HARRY,"  said  Si  Sumner,  one  morning  in  the 
latter  part  of  June,  "how  much  money  have  you 
got  for  the  Fourth  of  July  ? " 

"A  whole  dollar,"  I  replied,  with  something  of 
exultation  in  my  tone. 

"  How  'd  you  get  so  much  ?  "  inquired  Si,  with  a 
little  spice  of  envy. 

"I  earned  it  going  errands." 

"  Well,  I  've  got  a  half-dollar,  and  a  big  pile  of  old 
iron  I'm  going  to  sell  down  at  Munks's.  I'll  bet 
I  '11  get  a  quarter  for  it." 

Old  iron  was  a  commodity  largely  dealt  in  by  the 
boys  of  Liberty  Street  It  brought  a  cent  a  pound, 
and  Si  had  been  a  diligent  collector.  He  showed 
me  his  pile  with  pride.  Among  the  scraps  there  was 
a  part  of  a  barbed  instrument  that  looked  like  a  minia- 
ture harpoon. 

11  That  '11  bring  a  lot,"  said  Si. 

On  the  way  to  Munks's  we  met  old  Jack  Groves, 
the  negro  stevedore,  whose  eye  caught  the  harpoon, 
as  we  passed,  and  taking  it  from  the  basket  he 


56  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

offered  Si  ninepence  for  it.  Si  declined  the  offer 
with  scorn,  confident  that  it  would  bring  more  at  the 
iron  dealer's.  When  the  pile  was  weighed  Mr. 
Munks  said  it  came  to  eleven  cents. 

"  Eleven  cents ! "  exclaimed  Si.  "  Why,  Jack 
Groves  offered  me  ninepence  for  the  harpoon." 

"  Well,  why  did  n't  you  take  it  ?  It  does  n't  weigh 
a  pound." 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  Si  that  he  had  placed  a 
wrong  estimate  on  the  value  of  his  harpoon  and 
missed  a  chance  for  a  good  bargain.  He  looked  dis- 
consolate. 

"  Never  mind,  Si,"  said  I,  wishing  to  comfort  him. 
"  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  can  do.  You  've  got  a  pistol, 
and  if  we  sit  up  all  night  we  can  be  the  first  under 
old  Capt.  Potts's  window  and  get  that  half-dollar  he 
always  gives  to  the  boy  who  fires  the  first  salute  after 
midnight." 

"Ben  Hunter's  going  for  that;  he's  got  a  gun," 
said  Si,  still  doleful  and  dubious. 

"  But  he  lives  a  long  way  from  old  Potts's,  and  if 
we  go  and  spend  the  night  with  Jim  Norton  we  shall 
be. close  by." 

Si  began  to  take  heart  at  this,  and  it  was  arranged 
that  we  were  to  steal  out  of  our  homes  after  going 
to  bed  on  the  night  before  the  Fourth  and  proceed  to 
Jim  Norton's. 


THE    GLORIOUS    FOURTH.  57 

As  I  was  creeping  softly  down-stairs  on  that  event- 
ful evening,  I  heard  my  grandmother  saying,  in  sleepy 
tones,  — 

"  I  don't  believe  Betsy  put  the  cat  out." 

But  the  cat  was  out,  and  after  a  pause  and  another 
cautious  advance,  I,  too,  was  out.  The  moon  was 
shining  brightly,  and  all  was  still  as  I  turned  into 
the  street  and  met  Si  at  the  appointed  corner. 

"  How  did  you  get  out  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  Tumbled  out,"  said  Si,  witn  a  groan,  rubbing  his 
shin  as  he  spoke.  "  I  climbed  out  of  the  back  win- 
dow on  to  the  shed,  and  before  I  knew  it  I  slipped 
and  went  slap  off  the  roof  on  to  the  ground." 

"  Lucky  you  did  n't  wake  your  father." 

"  I  don't  see  much  luck  in  it,"  said  Si,  who  was  n't 
given  to  looking  on  the  bright  side  of  things. 

We  hurried  down  the  street  and  found  Jim  Norton 
up  and  dressed,  with  a  lantern  dimly  burning.  His 
indulgent  mother  had  given  him  the  use  of  the 
kitchen,  and  Jim  had  arranged  that  we  were  to  sit  up 
and  tell  stories  until  the  witching  hour  of  midnight. 

Si,  however,  was  more  intent  on  examining  into 
the  condition  of  his  scraped  shin,  and  when  Jim  saw 
it  he  benevolently  bestirred  himself  and  bound  it  up 
in  a  tallowed  rag. 

"  You  are  the  first  fellow  wounded,  I  do  believe," 
said  Jim. 


58  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

Si  did  n't  find  much  consolation  in  this  cheering 
remark,  and  soon  disposed  himself  on  a  bench  for 
a  nap.  Jim  and  I  lay  down  upon  a  mat,  and  Jim  told 
how  he  had  camped  out  in  the  woods  once  with  his 
father,  and  they  heard  a  bear  growling  in  the  night. 
I  seemed  myself  to  be  camping  out  on  a  mountain, 
and  the  mountain  was  a  volcano,  and  presently  there 
was  a  tremendous  eruption ;  a  column  of  flame  shot 
up  to  the  heavens,  and  the  ground  shook  beneath  me. 
As  I  turned  to  fly  from  the  stream  of  lava  flowing 
down  the  mountain-side,  Jim  Norton  shouted  in  my 
ear,  — 

"That's  the  Bangtown  Artillery,  and  .  they 've 
broke  two  panes  of  glass  in  the  kitchen  window." 

The  Bangtown  Artillery  was  an  organization  of 
young  men  who  felt  it  to  be  a  patriotic  duty  to  par- 
ade the  streets  on  the  night  before  the  Fourth,  and 
fire  salutes  from  a  six-pounder.  They  had  discharged 
their  piece  in  front;  of  the  house,  and  so  suggested 
my  dream  of  a  volcano. 

"  Come,  boys,"  said  Jim,  "  it 's  ten  minutes  of  twelve, 
and  I  '11  bet  Ben  Hunter  is  under  old  Potts's  window 
now." 

Si  and  I  rubbed  our  sleepy  eyes  and  followed  Jim 
into  the  street.  The  moon  had  gone  down,  but  the 
stars  shone  brightly.  We  turned  the  corner  and  en- 
tered the  long  street,  half-way  down  which  lived 


THE    GLORIOUS    FOURTH.  59 

Capt.  Potts.  As  we  ran'  along  we  kept  our  eyes  on 
the  far  end  of  the  street,  at  which  we  knew  Ben 
Hunter  would  enter  it.  No  one  was  to  be  seen  in 
the  dim  starlight,  and  we  hurried  along,  sure  now  of 
being  the  first  on  the  ground.  A  minute  later,  how- 
ever, we  saw  a  boy  enter  the  street  with  a  gun  in  his 
hand. 

"  That 's  Ben,"  said  Si,  "  but  we  Ve  got  the  start  of 
him.  Now  pull  for  it." 

We  ran  at  our  topmost  speed,  Si  quite  forgetting 
his  lame  leg  in  the  heat  of  the  contest ;  for  now  Ben 
had  seen  us,  and,  divining  our  purpose,  was  rushing 
down  towards  us  at  a  break-neck  pace.  He  was  a 
swift  runner,  and  might,  perhaps,  have  reached  the 
captain's  doorstep  first,  spite  of  our  advantage  in 
distance,  had  he  not  tripped  on  the  curbstone,  at  a 
cross  street,  and  fallen  sprawling  on  the  sidewalk. 
In  a  moment  more  we  were  under  the  captain's  win- 
dow. Just  then  the  old  Second  Parish  clock  struck 
twelve.  Si  elevated  his  pistol  and  pulled  the  trigger. 
To  our  consternation  it  missed  fire.  In  his  excite- 
ment Si  had  forgotten  to  cap  it.  Ben  was  now  on 
his  feet  again,  hurrying  on,  though  at  a  hobbling 
pace.  Trembling  with  excitement,  Si  scattered  the 
percussion  caps  over  the  sidewalk,  but  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  one  on  the  nipple,  and  bang !  went 
the  pistol  just  as  Ben  was  elevating  his  gun.  Bang! 


6O  THE    BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

too,  went  his  gun.  Up  went  the  window  over  our 
heads,  and  out  came  the  nightcapped  head  of  weather- 
beaten  old  Capt.  Potts,  shouting  in  his  hoarse  voice,  — 

"  Here  you  are,  my  hearties  ! " 

The  half-dollar  chinked  on  the  sidewalk,  and  Si 
sprang  and  secured  it.  * 

"  I  '11  pay  you  for  this,"  cried  Ben  Hunter,  in  a  high 
state  of  exasperation. 

"Pay  us  now,"  said  Si,  bravely,  we  being  three  to 
one.  Ben  was  mad.  This  was  an  act  of  insubordina- 
tion on  our  part.  As  the  big  boy  of  the  neighbor- 
hood he  ruled  tyrannically  over  the  younger  fry,  and 
having  announced  his  purpose  of  securing  the  old 
captain's  annual  donation,  it  was  clearly  treason  in  us 
to  attempt  to  forestall  him.  What  might  have  been 
the  result  of  a  contest  on  the  spot  cannot  now  be 
known,  for  the  reason  that  at  this  moment  a  crowd  of 
boys  approached  from  various  quarters,  each  of  whom 
had  been  intent  on  securing  the  prize. 

"  Who  got  the  half-dollar  ?  "  was  the  universal  cry. 

"I  did,"  said  Si,  holding  up  the  coin  in  sight  of  all. 

"Then,  fellows,"  said  good-natured  Joe  Jameson, 
"  let 's  make  Si  captain,  and  march  around  town  firing 
our  pistols." 

This  was  agreed  to  by  all  except  Ben  Hunter,  who 
said  he  wasn't  going  to  march  in  that  crowd,  and 
went  off  with  his  gun.  When  we  afterwards 


THE   GLORIOUS   FOURTH.  6l 

marched  past  his  house  he  shouted  after  us  in  deris- 
ion, — 

"  Hurrah  for  Potts's  pensioners  !  " 

What  a  gunpovvdery  night  was  that  !  All  the 
youth  of  Landsport  were  in  the  streets,  each  intent 
on  making  as  much  noise  as  possible.  The  roar  of 
the  Bangtown  six-pounder  was  succeeded  at  inter- 
vals by  the  rattle  of  musketry,  the  popping  of  pis- 
tols, and  the  snapping  of  Chinese  fire-crackers. 
Bang !  went  the  cannon  under  the  window  of  some 
startled  sleeper,  who,  turning  uneasily  in  his  bed, 
muttered  an  oath  perhaps,  and  dozed  off  again,  only 
to  be  awakened  by  a  volley  of  musketry,  the  solitary 
crack  of  a  pistol,  or  the  long  rattle  of  a  whole  bunch 
of  fire-crackers  ignited  in  an  empty  barrel.  The 
good  people  of  Landsport  were  patriotic  and  tolerant 
of  gunpowder  and  noise  on  the  glorious  Fourth. 

The  air  grew  sulphurous  and  heavy  with  smoke 
As  the  gray  of  the  morning  came  on,  how  weird  wao 
the  aspect  of  the  streets  to  us  sleepy  and  smoke- 
begrimed  boys  as  we  still  went  marching  on,  popping 
the  few  pistols  we  could  muster  among  us  !  In  the 
dim  twilight  of  that  unaccustomed  hour,  even  famil- 
iar objects  looked  strange  to  our  eyes.  The  alterna- 
tion of  the  uproar  with  the  silence  of  solitary  streets, 
the  unrecognized  figures  dimly  seen  in  the  misty  dis- 
tance, proving  on  approach  to  be  old  acquaintances, 


62  THE   BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

but  still  looking  strange  and  unlike  themselves  ;  the 
sudden  flash  and  roar  from  some  dark  and  unsus- 
pected nook,  —  all  combined  to  give  a  strange  fasci- 
nation to  the  scene. 

But  when  at  sunrise  the  bells  rang  out  a  merry 
peal,  and  the  cannon  at  the  arsenal  belched  forth  a 
national  salute,  the  scene  suddenly  changed,  and  we 
began  to  have  thoughts  of  home  and 'breakfast.  As 
I  was  turning  into  Liberty  Street  I  met  little  Ed 
Thompson  coming  out  of  Cross  Street,  where  he 
lived.  "  O  Harry  !  "  said  he,  "you  ought  to  have  been 
down  at  my  house  this  morning.  Hay-Bag  Ross 
came  over  to  help  me  fire  my  cannon,  and  Tom  Saw- 
yer and  Bill  Jones  came  with  them.  And  don't  you 
think  Tom  set  his  powder  down  all  open,  and  Hay- 
Bag  threw  a  match  down  after  he  had  touched  off 
the  cannon,  and  the  gunpowder  went  off,  and  flashed 
away  up  to  the  second-story  windows,  and  woke  up 
father  and  mother;  and  you  ought  to  have  seen  Hay- 
Bag  jumping  around  with  his  eyebrows  singed  off, 
and  crying  out,  '  Oh,  my  ^new  trousers  ! '  and  Tom  and 
Bill  leaping  over  the  fence,  and  father  sticking 
his  head  out  of  the  window  and  scolding  us,  and  me 
a  running  out  of  the  yard  !  The  powder  was  all 
burnt  up,  and  Hay-Bag '11  catch  it  for  scorching  his 
new  trousers,  and  he 's  got  to  stay  in  the  house  all 
day  because  his  eyebrows  are  all  singed  off !  " 


THE   GLORIOUS   FOURTH.  63 

True  enough,  poor  Hay-Bag  was  not  visible  for 
the  day,  nor  for  a  week  after,  and  when  he  did  again 
appear  Ben  Hunter  said  he  looked  like  a  singed  cat. 

As  the  morning  advanced  the  streets  grew  lively 
with  the  incoming  crowd  of  sight-seers.  How 
brightly  the  sun  shone  !  What  a  holiday  air  per- 
vaded all  things  !  Never  was  such  a  day  as  this  in 
all  the  year.  We  seemed  to  breathe  a  different 
atmosphere.  The  most  familiar  objects  assumed  a 
new  and  joyous  aspect.  The  shops  where  candy  and 
fruit  were  sold  became  bowers  of  evergreen.  Rows 
of  spruce-trees  were  stuck  in  front  of  saloons  and 
liquor  shops.  Stands  for  the  sale  of  lemonade  and 
spruce-beer  were  set  up  along  the  edge  of  the  side- 
walks. Every  one  wore  a  smiling  face,  and  all  were 
in  their  best  attire.  Troops  of  bright-faced  little 
girls  and  boys  hurried  along,  full  of  eager  expecta- 
tion. Long  lines  of  wagons  came  in  from  the  coun- 
try towns,  filled  with  farmers,  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren, all  bent  on  seeing  the  sights  and  enjoying 
the  rare  pleasure  of  a  holiday.  Queer  old  charac- 
ters, never  seen  on  any  other  day  in  the  year,  began 
to  creep  out  of  obscure  streets  and  by-ways,  —  little 
dried-up  old  women  in  big  old-fashioned  bonnets  ; 
hobbling  old  men,  wizened  and  gray,  attired  in 
antique  garb,  came  out  like  forgotten  relics  of  a  for- 
mer generation  ;  here  and  there  a  Revolutionary  pen- 


64  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

sioner  was  recognized  in  the  crowd  and  hailed  with 
many  hearty  greetings.  Now  and  then  a  soldier  in 
gay  uniform  hurried  through  the  press  of  people 
blocking  up  the  sidewalks,  and  anon  a  mounted  offi- 
cer trotted  past,  bearing  with  great  dignity  his  share 
of  the  weighty  responsibilities  of  the  day.  The 
crowd  all  surged  toward  Market  Square,  the  centre 
of  the  town,  which  was  soon  filled  with  an  expectant 
multitude.  As  I  pushed  about  in  the  crowd  I  came 
upon  Tim  Bunce. 

"  O  Harry !  "  cried  he,  "lend  me  a  ninepence." 

"  Why,  Tim,  didn't  you  have  any  Fourth-of-July 
money  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  half-dollar,  but  I  Ve  spent  it  all.  I 
didn't  think  the  day  was  going  to  be  so  long !  " 

As  it  was  then  but  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
I  wondered  when  Tim  began  his  day,  but  could  not 
refuse  him  the  ninepence. 

Presently  the  beating  of  drums  was  heard.  Vol- 
unteer companies  marched  past.  The  grand  proces- 
sion was  forming.  After  long  waiting  it  appeared, 
marching  down  Main  Street.  First  came  the 
mounted  truckmen  in  clean  white  frocks,  moving 
heavily  on  their  ponderous  steeds;  next  appeared  the 
uniformed  militia  companies  of  the  town,  with  drums 
beating  and  colors  flying ;  then  came  the  municipal 
officers,  followed  by  "  distinguished  citizens  "  ;  "  offi- 


THE    GLORIOUS   FOURTH.  65 

cers  of  the  army  and  navy,"  comprising  two  weather- 
beaten  veterans  in  rusty  uniforms ;  "  citizens  of 
other  towns,"  composed  of  a  long  line  of  farmers, 
walking  two  by  two,  with  their  whips  under  their 
arms;  the  pageant  closing  with  a  miscellaneous  crowd 
of  straggling  teams. 

After  marching  through  the  dusty  streets  for  an 
hour  or  two,  the  procession  halted  and  massed  in 
rear  of  the  town  hall,  from  a  window  of  which  "  the 
orator  of  the  day "  stepped  forth  upon  an  extempor 
ized  platform,  manuscript  in  hand,  and  read  a  long  ora- 
tion in  a  loud  voice  and  with  many  emphatic  gestures. 

We  boys  mingled  with  the  crowd  and  sat  on  the 
doorsteps  and  curbstones,  and  made  very  free  com- 
ments on  the  proceedings. 

"  What  is  he  talking  about  ? "  asked  Ed  Thompson. 

"Oh,  don't  you  hear?  He's  telling  about  our 
Revolutionary  fathers  and  how  they  whipped  the 
British,"  replied  Jim  Norton,  who  prided  himself  on 
his  historical  knowledge. 

"  My  grandfather  fought  in  the  Revolution,"  said 
Si  Sumner,  "and  I  guess  he  killed  as  many  as  a 
dozen  of  the  British." 

"  He  don't  look  as  if  he  ever  killed  anybody," 
remarked  Jim  Norton. 

Si  was  about  to  resent  this  imputation  on  the 
valor  of  his  ancestor,  when  the  drum  beat  again,  an- 
S 


66  THE   BOYS  OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

nouncing  the  conclusion  of  the  long  oration.  Then 
the  bells  began  to  ring,  and  the  cannon  boomed 
again,  the  procession  re-formed  and  marched  down 
Union  Wharf  to  the  Hay  Magazine,  a  very  long  build- 
ing where  tables  were  spread,  at  which  the  weary  and 
dusty  crowd  took  seats  on  rough  board  benches  and 
began  to  demolish  the  rolls  and  corned  beef  with  a 
valor  worthy  of  "the  days  that  tried  men's  souls." 

The  scene  of  the  day's  festivities  now  shifted  to 
the  "  Hill,"  which  rose  at  the  eastern  end  of  the 
town.  On  the  summit  of  the  Hill  stood  a  red- 
shingled  observatory,  whose  purpose  was  the  signal- 
ling of  ships  approaching  the  port.  This  observatory, 
for  some  unknown,  reason  was  popularly  called  the 
"  monument."  On  holidays  it  was  always  gay  with 
long  lines  of  the  flags  of  all  nations,  extending  from 
the  four  flag-staffs  on  the  summit  to  the  ground. 

The  green  slope  stretching  down  from  the  obser- 
vatory to  the  graveyard,  where  the  "  rude  forefathers 
of  the  hamlet"  slept,  was  the  play -ground  of  the 
town.  Here  "general  muster"  was  held,  and  here 
the  crowd  resorted  on  Independence  Day  to  indulge 
in  the  rude  festivities  of  our  one  national  holiday. 
It  commanded  a  wide-extended  view  of  the  town 
below,  of  the  harbor  with  its  shipping,  the  opposite 
shore  of  the  "  Cape,"  and  the  ocean  beyond. 

How  stirring  was  the  scene  on  Independence  Day ! 


THE    GLORIOUS    FOURTH.  6/ 

The  military  that  had  done  escort  duty  in  the  fore- 
noon came  marching  up  the  deep  cut  which  Congress 
Street  then  made  in  the  ascent  of  the  hill,  with  drums 
beating  and  banners  flying.  They  marched  and  coun- 
termarched, they  deployed  and  wheeled  and  charged, 
in  long-extended,  wavering  line,  their  bayonets  glit- 
tering in  the  sunshine.  Their  white  tents  dotted  the 
greensward,  and  were  gay  with  pennons.  The  offi- 
cers dined  in  the  big  marqtiee,  and  we  boys  stood  at 
the  openings  in  the  canvas  and  listened  to  the  toasts 
and  the  cheers.  As  the  name  of  each  State  was 
toasted,  the  roar  of  a  six-pounder  mingled  with  the 
sound  of  cheers.  Those  were  patriotic  days,  and 
some  of  the  nation's  brave  defenders  showed  their 
devotion  to  their  country  by  the  depth  of  their  pota- 
tions. Old  Gen.  McGuire  stood  up,  glass  in  hand, 
and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Gentlemen,  we  have  now  come  to  the  last  State 
in  the  Union."  Thereupon  an  officer  who  had  al- 
lowed «o  State  to  pass  unhonored  by  him,  struggled 
up  unsteadily,  and  leaning  over  the  table  said,  — 

"Sheneral,  isn't  there  another  little  State,  some- 
wheres?" 

Then  there  were  "  the  flying  horses,"  on  which  for 
five  cents  we  rode  until  we  were  dizzy.  Fire-crackers 
were  snapping  at  our  feet  at  every  step,  while  boys 
with  an  eye  to  business  were  shouting, — 


68  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Crackers  !  five  for  a  cent !  "  Venders  of  cooling 
beverages  were  crying,  — 

"  Here's  your  lemonade,  cold  as  ice  can  make  it !  " 

Jimmy  Hall,  the  English  chimney-sweep,  at  his 
candy  stand  was  shouting  after  each  sale,  as  he  rattled 
the  money  between  his  hands, — 

"  Sold  the  candy,  got  the  money  !  sold  the  candy, 
got  the  money  !  " 

Old  Johnny  Avery  was  singing  Revolutionary 
songs  in  a  cracked  voice,  while  the  by-standers  tossed 
pennies  into  his  cap.  Then  there  was  the  wonderful 
peep  show,  exhibited  by  a  dark,  outlandish-looking 
man,  speaking  with  a  foreign  accent,  who,  as  he 
pulled  the  string  that  shifted  the  scenes  in  his  box, 
cried  out,  — 

"  The  Kensington  Palace  and  gyardens  ! " 

But  the  centre  of  attraction  was  the  long  line  of 
canvas-covered  booths,  in  which  were  made  tempt- 
ing displays  of  gingerbread,  eggnog,  candies,  and 
fruit. 

"  Come,  boys,"  said  Si  Sumner,  "  I  'm  going  to 
stand  treat  with  that  half-dollar  I  got  of  old  Potts." 

Nothing  loath,  we  all  followed  Si  into  one  of  the 
larger  booths,  where  tables  were  provided  for  the 
accommodation  of  hungry  customers. 

"  What  shall  we  have,  boys  ? "  said  Si,  with  the 
grand  air  which  became  the  magnificent  provider  of 
'the  feast. 


THE    GLORIOUS    FOURTH.  69 

«  Pie ! " 

"  Lemonade ! " 

"  Gingerbread ! " 

"  Spruce  beer !  " 

"  Nuts  and  candy  ! " 

All  cried  together,  and  Si  gave  his  orders  accord- 
ingly. What  a  feast  was  that,  and  how  jolly  we  all 
were  as  we  sat  at  the  tables  looking  out  upon  the 
lively  scene  before  us  !  When  our  hunger  was  some- 
what appeased,  Joe  Jameson  rose  and  said,  — 

"  Boys,  I  give  you  the  health  of  old  Capt.  Potts, 
and  long  may  he  live  ! " 

This  was  received  with  loud  cheers  and  thumpings 
of  the  table.  We  had  not  listened  at  the  door  of  the 
marquee  for  nothing.  Jim  Norton  jumped  up  and 
cried  out,  — 

"  Here  's  bad  luck  to  Ben  Hun  —  " 

He  stopped  short  as  he  saw  Ben's  scowling  face 
looking  in  at  the  front  of  the  booth.  Ben's  appear- 
ance on  the  scene  threw  a  damper  on  our  festivities, 
but  he  went  as  suddenly  as  he  came,  and  we  were 
about  to  resume  our  festive  cheer  when  loud  shouts, 
mingled  with  oaths  and  the  rush  of  many  feet,  were 
heard.  Before  we  could  learn  the  cause  of  the 
tumult,  a  crowd  of  trampling,  fighting,  half-drunken 
men  rushed  against  the  side  of  the  booth,  the  canvas 
covering  was  quickly  torn  off,  the  struggling  mass 


7O  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

was  upon  us,  the  tables  were  overturned,  some  of  us 
were  thrown  to  the  ground  in  the  scramble  that  en- 
sued, and  all  were  glad  to  struggle  out  of  the  crowd 
as  fast  as  possible. 

The  shades  of  evening  were  beginning  to  fall,  and 
the  keepers  of  the  booths  were  hurriedly  taking 
down  their  temporary  structures  in  anticipation  of 
the  drunken  rows  which  usually  followed  the  free 
use  of  liquors  on  a  holiday.  Fights  took  place  be- 
tween tipsy  champions,  and  gangs  of  rowdies  roamed 
about  demolishing  all  booths  that  were  not  well 
defended.  We  scattered  down  the  hill  on  our  way 
home,  and  presently  I  overtook  Tim  Bunce,  who  cried 
out, — 

"  Ben  Hunter  paid  yer  off,  after  all,  didn't  he  ?  " 

"  How  so  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  did  n't  yer  know  he  brought  that  gang 
down  upon  your  booth  ?  I  saw  him  do  it.  There 
was  a  lot  of  drunken  fellows  chasing  a  nigger  from 
Sandy  Holler,  and  he  ran  among  the  booths,  and 
just  then  Ben  ran  out  and  shouted,  '  This  way  !  this 
way ! '  And  he  led  'em  right  down  on  to  your 
booth.  But,  my,  was  n't  old  Johnson  mad  ? " 

"So  Ben  is  still  at  the  bottom  of  the  mischief," 
was  my  reflection,  as  I  turned  in  home,  well  content 
to  seek  the  bed  I  had  been  so  eager  to  desert  the 
previous  night. 


HOW  JIM    TRUMAN    LOST    HIS    ARM.  f\ 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  JIM    TRUMAN    LOST    HIS   ARM. 

BILL  TRUMAN  lived  in  a  small  house  near  the 
twine  factory.  It  stood  close  upon  the  street,  which 
since  its  erection  had  been  raised  to  a  level  with  the 
lower-story  windows.  The  old  house  seemed  to  be 
settling  into  the  earth,  going  down  with  the  fortunes 
of  its  occupants  ;  for  Bill's  father,  Mr.  James  Tru- 
man, commonly  called  Jim  Truman,  had  seen 
better  days.  "Yes,  boys,"  he  would  say,  in  his  con 
fidential  moments,  "  I  'm  not  what  I  used  to  be. 
I  've  seen  the  time  when  you  would  n't  catch  me 
working  for  old  Frye  for  a  dollar  a  day." 

Jim  worked  in  the  twine  factory,  an  establishment 
of  great  interest  to  us  boys,  since  we  were  seldom 
permitted  to  enter  it.  One  day  in  the  autumn  follow- 
ing the  events  of  the  last  chapter,  Bill  Truman  asked 
Joe  Jameson  and  myself  to  go  with  him  to  the  factory 
where  he  was  employed  in  turning  a  wheel.  Glad 
enough  to  gain  entrance  to  this  mysterious  building, 
which  was  so  long  it  seemed  to  have  no  end,  and  whose 
many  windows  were  always  blinking  at  us  when  we 
played  "I  spy"  in  the  lumber-yard,  we  readily  as- 


72  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

sented,  and  soon  found  ourselves  standing  at  the 
upper  end  of  a  long,  narrow  apartment  which  stretched 
away  into  a  dim  and  dusty  distance.  Here  stood  the 
wheel  which  Bill  was  employed  to  turn,  while  Mr.  Frye, 
with  a  bunch  of  tow  at  his  waist,  walked  backward 
down  a  long  aisle,  spinning  an  ever-lengthening  line 
as  he  went.  Bill  turned,  and  Mr.  Frye  twisted  with 
thumb  and  finger,  and  so  the  twine  grew  until  it  carried 
Mr.  Frye  so  far  away  we  wondered  if  he  would  ever 
get  back  again. 

After  watching  this  operation  for  a  time,  and  giv- 
ing Bill  an  occasional  "  spell"  at  the  wheel,  we 
turned  our  attention  to  his  father's  proceedings.  Mr. 
Truman  was  hatchelling  flax.  Taking  a  quantity  of 
this  material  in  his  hand  he  threw  it  over  some  long, 
sharp  iron  teeth  which  stood  upright  in  a  board  and 
drew  it  through  them  until  it  was  combed  out  clean 
and  straight.  This  process  was  preparatory  to  the 
twisting  of  the  twine.  Truman  had  but  one  hand, 
having  lost  his  left  arm  above  the  elbow.  This  made 
him  an  object  of  much  interest  to  us  boys,  who 
looked  with  some  awe  on  the  empty  sleeve,  the  end 
of  which  was  sewed  into  the  pocket  of  his  short 
jacket.  I  had  often  wondered  what  had  become  of 
that  missing  arm.  There  were  whispers  among  the 
boys  that  Jim  had  been  in  the  wars,  and  had  lost  his 
arm  in  a  desperate  encounter  with  the  enemy.  We 


HOW  JIM    TRUMAN    LOST    HIS    ARM.  73 

looked  upon  him  as  a  good  deal  of  a  hero,  though  at 
times  his  acts  did  not  entirely  sustain  that  character. 
These  occasions  were  always  immediately  after  he 
got  the  pension  paid  him  by  government. 

As  we  watched  him  swinging  his  right  arm  while 
hatchelling  the  flax,  an  overpowering  impulse  seized 
upon  Joe  Jameson,  and  before  he  had  time  to  con- 
sider the  audacity  of  the  question  he  blurted  out, — 

"Mr.  Truman,  won't  you  tell  us  how  you  lost  your 
arm  ? " 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  that 's  a  long  story." 

"  Please  to  tell  us,"  we  both  pleaded  in  a  breath. 

"I  'm  too  busy  now,"  said  Truman,  thrashing  away 
at  the  flax.  "  Some  other  time  perhaps  I  will." 

"  Come,  father,"  said  Bill,  "  you  know  you  got  your 
pension  to-day,  and  you  promised  me  a  candy  scrape 
when  you  got  the  money.  Let 's  have  it  to-night, 
and  then  you  can  tell  the  boys  the  whole  story." 

Mr.  Truman  paused  in  his  labor  and  wiped  his 
brow  on  his  shirt-sleeve.  "  I  don't  remember  such 
a  promise,"  he  said,  dubiously,  and  our  anticipations 
fell  to  zero ;  but  he  added,  "  you  've  worked  pretty 
well,  Bill,  the  last  fortnight,  and  I  don't  mind  giving 
you  a  treat." 

"  Hurrah  ! "  cried  Bill,  applying  himself  to  the  crank 
with  renewed  vigor,  while  Joe  and  I  rubbed  our  hands 
in  glee. 


74  THE    BOYS  OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

That  evening  an  eager  company  of  boys  gathered 
in  the  low  kitchen  of  the  little  house  under  the  side- 
walk. A  bright  fire  was  blazing  in  the  open  fire- 
place, and  on  the  crane  hung  an  iron  pot,  into  which 
Bill  had  poured  as  much  as  two  quarts  of  molasses. 

"  What  a  gob  that  '11  make  ! "  cried  Tim  Bunce, 
highly  delighted  at  the  lavishness  of  the  treat. 

We  all  sat  around  the  fire  in  a  high  state  of  expect- 
ancy, while  Bill,  who  claimed  to  be  a  "  dabster  "  at 
making  molasses  candy,  stirred  the  contents  of  the 
pot  to  prevent  its  "catching"  on  the  bottom.  The 
molasses  boiled  and  bubbled,  and  rose  to  the  mouth 
of  the  pot,  out  of  which  it  was  only  prevented  from 
boiling  by  frequent  stirrings.  After  much  tasting  all 
around  from  a  long-handled  spoon,  the  candy  was 
pronounced  "  done,"  the  great  crane  was  swung  out 
and  the  pot  carefully  lifted  from  it. 

"  I  '11  butter  the  platter,"  said  Si  Sumner,  busily 
applying  himself  to  the  task  with  a  lump  of  butter 
kindly  furnished  by  Bill's  grandmother. 

It  was  decided  that  the  candy  should  be  set  to 
cool,  before  "working,"  on  a  bench  outside  the  back 
door. 

Just  then  Mr.  Truman,  who  had  donned  his  best 
coat  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  made  his  appearance 
on  the  scene,  and  was  loudly  welcomed. 

Mr.  Truman  was  in  a  hilarious  state  of  mind,  as 


HOW   JIM   TRUMAN    LOST    HIS    ARM.  75 

he  usually  was  when  he  got  his  pension  money, 
though  neither  lasted  long. 

"Now,  Mr.  Truman,"  said  Joe  Jameson,  "please 
tell  us  how  you  lost  your  arm." 

"Yes,  father,"  said  Bill,  "you  can  tell  the  story 
while  the  candy  is  cooling.'" 

"Boys,"  began  Mr.  Truman,  "you  don't  remember 
the  war  of  1812.  I  do.  I  was  a  lad  not  much  older 
than  some  of  you,  then.  It  was  pretty  hard  times 
here  in  Landsport  for  a  while,  I  tell  ye.  When  they 
put  the  embargo  on,  everything  stopped,  and  people 
who  were  well  off  before  were  glad  to  go  to  the 
soup-house  to  get  something  to  eat. 

"  After  the  fighting  began  on  the  sea,  some  of  our 
folks  thought  they  might  as  well  have  a  hand  in  it, 
and  old  Jake  McNaughton  and  others  fitted  out  a 
privateer.  One  day  I  went  down  on  to  Long  Wharf 
just  as  they  was  taking  her  cannon  aboard.  Capt. 
Jim  Reed,  he  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  'Saucy  Jack,' 
—  that  was  the  name  of  the  privateer,  —  and  seeing 
me,  he  called  out,  — 

"  '  My  boy,  don't  you  want  to  make  your  fortune  ? ' 

"  I  said  I  did  n't  know.  For  ye  see  I  had  n't  much 
idee  about  this  privateering,  though  I  found  out  after- 
wards that  some  of  the  owners,  and  the  crew,  too, 
did  make  a  pile  of  money  out  of  it.  Well,  Capt. 
Reed  he  told  me  that  if  I  'd  ship  with  him  I  'd  get  a 


76  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

lot  o'  prize  money.  He  wanted  a  boy  about  my  size 
for  powder-monkey.  Mother  said  I  should  n't  go, 
but  father  said  times  was  hard,  and  I  might  as  well 
be  doing  something. 

"  Well,  the  upshot  of  it  was  I  shipped  aboard  the 
'  Saucy  Jack.'  She  carried  eight  guns  and  a  crew 
of  one  hundred  men.  They  was  most  all  Landsport 
boys,  and  all  of  'em  but  me  had  been  to  sea  afore.  I 
was  pretty  seasick  at  the  first  on  it,  and  wished  I 
had  n't  shipped,  I  tell  ye,  but  when  I  got  my  sea  legs 
on  I  could  eat  all  afore  me. 

"  One  day  we  saw  a  sail  and  soon  overhauled  her, 
for  the  '  Saucy  Jack  '  was  a  fast  sailer.  The  captain 
said  he  'd  lay  us  alongside  and  board  her.  So  we  got 
into  close  quarters,  when,  hang  me  if  she  did  n't 
open  a  heavy  fire  on  us.  It  was  a  British  man-o'-war 
in  disguise  !  I  tell  you  we  jumped  around  pretty 
lively  when  we  found  that  out.  We  had  two  men 
killed  afore  we  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  us. 
The  captain,  he  swore  like  blazes,  and  we  began  to 
claw  off  as  fast  as  we  could.  But  the  wind  was  light 
and  the  frigate  was  bearing  down  upon  us,  when  the 
captain  cried,  'Out  with  the  sweeps! '  And  we  took 
to  the  long  oars  and  pulled  away  for  dear  life.  Still 
we  did  n't  gain  much,  so  the  captain  ordered  out  the 
boats,  and  they  carried  out  kedges,  and  then  all 
hands  took  hold  of  the  line  and  pulled  her  up  to  one 


HOW  JIM    TRUMAN    LOST    HIS    ARM.  // 

of  'em,  while  the  boat  carried  another  kedge  ahead. 
In  this  way  we  began  to  crawl  away  from  the  frigate, 
but  when  she  saw  what  we  was  up  to,  she  sent  out 
her  boats  and  began  to  play  the  same  game  with 
kedges. 

"  Then  it  was  nip  and  tuck,  I  tell  ye  !  I  thought 
the  '  Saucy  Jack  '  was  a  goner,  but  her  time  had  n't 
come  jest  yet.  Pretty  soon  the  frigate  see  we  was 
slipping  away  from  her,  so  she  opened  on  us  with 
her  bow  chasers,  and  the  way  the  splinters  flew 
about  my  ears  was  a  caution.  My  heart  went  down 
to  the  bottom  of  my  boots,  but  pretty  soon  I  got  so 
hot  serving  powder  to  our  guns  that  I  never  thought 
about  the  danger.  Just  then  smash  came  a  shot  on 
board,  and  down  I  went  on  the  deck." 

"  And  your  arm  was  shot  off !  "  cried  Jim  Norton, 
who  had  been  listening  with  open-mouthed  attention. 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  lad,"  said  Truman,  while  all  the 
boys  cried  out  to  Jim  to  hush  up,  and  we  drew  still 
closer  around  the  hero  of  the  hour. 

"No,  I  was  only  knocked  down  by  the  wind  of  the 
ball.  Ye  see  a  cannon-ball  makes  a  big  hole  in  the 
air,  and  the  wind  rushes  in  after  it  powerful.  I  was 
soon  on  my  feet  again,  and  by  this  time  a  light  breeze 
had  sprung  up,  and  we  soon  left  the  frigate  behind. 
But  it  was  a  narrow  escape,  I  tell  ye.  Well,  we 
cruised  about  for  a  week,  after  that,  without  falling 


78  THE   BOYS   OF  THIRTY-FIVE. 

in  with  anything,  and  the  captain  began  to  get  rather 
down  in  the  mouth  at  our  bad  luck,  when  one  day  a 
whole  fleet  of  merchantmen  hove  in  sight  under  con- 
voy of  a  frigate,  and  the  captain  swore  he  'd  capture 
one  of  them  merchantmen  in  spite  of  the  frigate. 
So  we  gave  chase  as  bold  as  a  lion,  and  when  the 
frigate  began  to  chase  us,  we  turned  tail  and  led  her 
a  long  chase  till  night  fell,  when  we  slipped  away 
from  her  in  the  darkness. 

"  Next  morning  there  was  the  merchant  ships  all 
drawn  up  as  if  in  order  of  battle.  We  pounced  down 
on  'em  pretty  quick,  I  tell  ye ;  sailed  slap  right 
through  their  line,  give  'em  broadsides  right  and 
left,  and  then  raked  'em  fore  and  aft,  till  four  of  'em 
struck  their  colors.  We  could  have  taken  more  of 
'em  if  we  had  had  men  enough  to  man  'em.  But 
perhaps  you  want  to  know  where  the  frigate  was  all 
this  time.  Why,  she  was  cruising  about  after  us !  that 
was  the  joke  of  it. 

"  Our  next  brush  with  the  enemy  was  n't  so  much 
of  a  joke.  We'd  been  a  scuddin'  along  all  night 
before  a  stiff  breeze,  and  at  daylight  a  sail  hove  in 
sight  low  down  on  the  horizon.  The  captain  he  went 
for  everything  he  saw,  but  when  we  got  a  better  view 
of  the  stranger  he  did  n't  like  the  looks  on  her.  Fact 
is,  it  was  a  British  frigate,  and  she  was  a  bearing 
right  down  on  us.  We  spread  all  sail,  but  the  frigate 


HOW   JIM    TRUMAN    LOST    HIS    ARM.  79 

had  the  weather-gauge  of  us,  and  she  was  n't  so  clumsy 
as  most  of  the  British  men-o'-war  was  in  them  days. 
She  kept  a  gaining  on  us,  though  we  spread  every  rag 
of  canvas.  It  was  pretty  exciting  for  a  time,  I  tell 
ye.  The  'Saucy  Jack'  wasn't  no  slow-goer,  but 
she  'd  met  her  match  this  time. 

"  '  Boys,'  said  Capt.  Reed,  '  we  ain't  a  going  to  a 
British  prison,  not  yet.  Give  her  a  shot.' 

"The  shot  fell  short,  and  only  splashed  up  the  sea, 
but  it  brought  out  a  shot  from  the  frigate  that  did 
for  us.  Crash  went  our  main-topmast,  carrying  every- 
thing by  the  board.  Before  we  could  clear  away  the 
wreck  another  shot  raked  our  deck,  fore  and  aft, 
and  killed  three  men.  Things  began  to  look  pretty 
serious  then,  I  tell  ye.  The  captain  he  was  hit  by  a 
splinter,  but  he  would  n't  go  below.  We  give  the 
frigate  a  broadside,  and  then  she  poured  one  into  us 
that  came  nigh  on  to  sinking  us.  Our  flag  was  shot 
away,  and  the  frigate  hailed  us  and  asked  if  we  'd  sur- 
rendered. The  captain  tried  to  sing  out  "  No  !  "  but 
he  was  too  weak  from  loss  of  blood  to  be  heard,  and 
the  frigate  sent  her  boats  aboard  and  took  possession. 

"  The  British  leftenant  said  we  was  a  prize  to  his 
Majesty's  ship  'Swaggerer.'  And  a  swaggerer  she 
was,  too,  and  all  her  officers,  for  that  matter.  They 
bullied  us  the  worst  kind.  They  put  a  prize  crew 
aboard  the  '  Saucy  Jack,'  and  sent  our  crew  aboard 


8O  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

the  frigate.  Then  we  was  all  drawed  up  in  a  line  to 
see  if  there  was  any  Britishers  among  us.  You  see, 
the  British  they  claimed  the  right  to  take  their  sail- 
ors out  of  our  ships  whenever  they  found  'em,  and 
they  was  n't  verv  partic'lar  to  make  sure  o  getting 
the  right  marr,  neither.  I  had  my  protection  papers, 
and  they  did  n't  say  nothing  to  me,  but  some  of  our 
crew  did  n't  have  any  papers,  and  they  put  'em  in 
irons.  The  frigate  put  into  Portsmouth,  England, 
and  we  was  sent  to  Dartmoor  prison.  It  was  a 
gloomy  place,  on  high  land,  where  it  rained  or 
snowed  the  whole  year  round,  and  was  cold  enough 
to  wear  a  great-coat  the  whole  time.  There  was 
more  than  five  thousand  prisoners  there  and  we  had 
a  pretty  hard  time  of  it,  for  they  did  n't  give  us  none 
too  much  to  eat. 

"  I  s'pose  I  'd  been  there  pretty  nigh  a  year  when 
one  day  a  lot  of  us  was  playing  ball  in  the  prison 
yard.  I  tossed  the  ball  to  the  man  at  the  bat,  and 
he  knocked  it  over  the. prison  wall.  We  'd  done  this 
afore,  and  the  sentry  always  throwed  it  back  to  us. 
This  day  it  happened  there  was  a  surly  fellow  on 
guard,  and  when  we  sung  out  for  "him  to  throw  the 
ball  over  he  swore  he  would  n't.  Jack  Carson  called 
out,  'If  you  don't  throw  it  over  we'll  dig  a  hole 
through  the  wall  and  get  it.' 

"  The  sentry,  he  told  us  to  come  on  if  we  wanted 


HOW  JIM   TRUMAN    LOST   HIS    ARM.  8 1 

to,  and  so,  just  for  fun,  we  all  made  a  rush  for  the 
wall  and  began  digging  a  hole  in  the  brick  work. 
The  officer  on  duty  he  saw  the  rush,  and  ordered  us 
back  into  the  yard ;  and  then  Capt.  Shortland 
marched  his  troops  into  the  yard,  and  while  we  was 
all  standing  there  waiting  for  what  was  to  come 
next,  he  ordered  the  soldiers  to  fire  on  us.  We 
never  expected  he  was  going  to  shoot  us,  and  when 
the  men  began  to  fall  the  rest  of  us  ran  to  get  shel- 
ter. I  tried  to  get  behind  a  gate,  but  just  as  I 
reached  it  I  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  my  arm,  and  it 
fell  by  my  side.  When  it  was  all  over,  and  the  doc 
tor  came  to  look  at  me,  he  said  the  bone  was  shat. 
tered  and  they  would  have  to  cut  it  off ;  and  that 's 
the  way  I  lost  my  arm,  boys." 

We  all  drew  a  long  breath,  and  Si  Sumner  said, 
"  Why  did  n't  you  prisoners  rise  on  the  guard  and 
kill  the  whole  of  'em  ? " 

"  Fact  is,  we  wanted  to  bad  enough,  but  we  hadn't 
no  weapons.  But  you  ought  to  have  heard  the  men 
yelling  and  swearing  at  old  Shortland.  They  fright- 
ened him  so  he  never  dared  to  show  his  head  again 
while  they  was  in  the  prison.  The  British  govern- 
ment, they  said  it  was  all  a  mistake,  but  there  was 
no  mistake  that  Shortland  was  a  coward  and  a 
brute.  There  was  seven  men  killed  and  thirty-eight 
wounded,  —  and  all  for  nothing." 
6 


82  THE   BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  I  guess  that  candy 's  cool  enough  by  this  time," 
said  Bill.  "  Fetch  it  in,  Tim." 

We  had  forgotten  all  about  the  candy  while  listen- 
ing to  Truman's  story,  but  now  our  interest  in  it  sud- 
denly revived,  and  we  were  all  ready  for  the  treat, 
when  Tim  burst  into  the  room,  his  red  hair  standing 
up  like  porcupine  quills,  and  gasped  out,  — 

"  The  candy 's  gone  ! " 

"Gone  ! "  cried  we  all,  in  consternation. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tim,  "  I  can't  find  it  nowhere." 

"  Some  of  the  fellows  have  hid  it,  I  guess,"  said 
Bill,  as  we  all  rushed  out  of  the  room  in  search  of  our 
lost  treat. 

It  was  gone,  sure  enough,  platter  and  all.  We 
searched  all  about  the  premises,  but  no  trace  of  it 
was  discovered.  A  deep  gloom  fell  upon  us. 

"This  is  plaguy  mean,"  said  Si  Sumner;  "do  you 
s'pose  Ben  Hunter  stole  it  ?  " 

"  Like  as  not,"  replied  Bill ;  "  he  was  n't  in- 
vited." 

"  Boys,"  said  his  father,  thrusting  his  hand  into 
his  pocket  with  an  air  of  great  munificence,  "  you 
sha'n't  lose  your  treat.  Here 's  a  silver  half-dollar. 
Go  over  to  Delande's  and  buy  some  candy." 

We  were  profuse  in  our  thanks,  to  which  Truman 
replied,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  "  You  're  welcome, 
boys,  welcome."  He  was  always  as  rich  as  a  Jew 


HOW   JIM    TRUMAN    LOST    HIS    ARM.  83 

the  day  he  got  his  pension  money.  We  adjourned  to 
Delande's  confectionery  shop,  where  the  half-dollar 
was  invested  in  long  sticks  of  molasses  candy,  each 
with  a  big  nob  at  one  end. 

By  this  time  the  hour  had  grown  late,  and  as  Jim 
Norton  lived  at  the  lower  end  of  the  town  some  of 
us  volunteered  to  accompany  him  part  of  the  way 
home.  The  moon  was  shining  brightly,  and  as  we 
walked  the  quiet  streets  a  spirit  of  bravado  and  mis- 
chief, partly  incited,  perhaps,  by  the  warlike  deeds  of 
which  we  had  heard,  and  partly  by  the  animal  spirits 
of  youth,  took  possession  of  us.  We  felt  like  taking 
the  freedom  of  the  town  in  defiance  of  the  two  an- 
cient watchmen  who  were  supposed  to  be  somewhere 
guarding  its  hours  of  slumber. 

At  the  corner  of  Union  and  Middle  Streets  we 
came  upon  a  pile  of  very  large  grindstones  lying  on 
the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  a  shop  door.  A 
happy  thought  struck  me. 

"Boys,"  said  I,  "let 's  have  some  fun.  Let's  set 
one  of  these  grindstones  rolling  down  the  street,  and 
see  where  it  will  bring  up." 

"  Agreed !  "  cried  they  all  ;  and  we  immediately 
began  tugging  at  the  topmost  stone,  which  we  found 
a  heavier  customer  than  we  had  supposed  it  would  be. 
With  our  united  strength  we  were  able,  after  repeated 
efforts,  to  push  it  from  the  pile  and  stand  it  upon  its 


84  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

edge.  It  required  great  exertion  to  roll  it  into  the 
middle  of  the  street,  and  at  one  time  it  came  near 
falling  upon  Si  Sumner.  However,  we  at  length  got 
it  headed  down  the  steep  incline  of  Union  Street, 
and  at  the  word  "Let  go,  boys,"  away  it  went,  slowly 
at  first,  and  then  more  and  more  rapidly,  until  it  ac- 
quired great  speed  and  momentum. 

"  See  it  spin  !  "  cried  Tim  Bunce,  dancing  franti- 
cally and  waving  his  hat  in  the  air. 

I  watched  it  with  great  interest,  and  not  without  a 
secret  fear  that  mischief  might  come  of  it.  Presently 
some  inequality  in  the  roadway  turned  it  aside  from 
its  direct  course.  It  was  now  aiming  directly  for  the 
small  wooden  house  in  which  old  Tom  Prince  lived. 
We  knew  he  had  died  that  very  day.  My  heart  was 
in  my  mouth  We  all  stood  silent,  watching  its 
course  with  strained  attention,  until  it  went  dashing 
through  the  low  front  door  of  the  house,  which 
opened  directly  upon  the  sidewalk. 

Now  it  happened  that  two  respectable  citizens,  in 
accordance  with  the  custom  of  the  time,  were  at  that 
moment  engaged  in  taking  their  toddy  to  sustain 
them  in  the  awesome  duty  of  watching  the  corpse  of 
old  Tom  Prince.  As  the  tremendous  intruder  came 
crashing  in  upon  them  they  sprang  to  their  feet,  and 
dropping  their  glasses  rushed  to  the  door.  One  of 
them  afterwards  said,  in  relating  the  experience  of 


HOW   JIM   TRUMAN    LOST   HIS    ARM.  8$ 

that  fearful  night,  that  he  thought  Satan  himself  had 
come  to  take  possession  of  old  Tom,  body  and  all. 

As  we  saw  the  two  faithful  watchers  emerging 
hatless  from  the  door,  we  took  to  our  heels  and  ran 
for  dear  life  to  our  several  homes. 

For  some  days  after  this  midnight  adventure  there 
were  no  more  quiet,  studious,  well-behaved  boys  at 
home  or  in  school  than  the  party  who  were  guilty  of 
the  vagaries  of  that  unlucky  grindstone.  Every  time 
Mr.  Burns,  the  town  crier,  rang  his  bell  and  made 
his  proclamation  at  the  street  corners  of  an  auction 
sale  or  a  lost  child,  we  trembled  with  fear  lest  he 
should  be  offering  a  reward  for  the  detection  of  those 
who  set  that  stone  in  motion.  He  always  bawled 
himself  so  hoarse  and  rattled  so  hurriedly  through 
the  matter  in  hand  that  we  never  knew  what  he  was 
saying. 

Yet  with  all  our  fear  of  detection  we  had  a  sort  of 
guilty  enjoyment  of  the  fun  of  the  thing.  We  al- 
ways laughed  when  we  thought  of  those  two  respect- 
able citizens  rushing  out  hatless  into  the  street. 
Meeting  Tim  Bunce  some  days  after,  he  said,  in  an 
aside,  "  Tell  you  what,  Harry,  it 's  no  use  saying  our 
rolling  stone  gathered  no  moss,  for  did  n't  it  bring 
old  Morse  to  the  door  in  a  hurry  ?  " 

The  affair  made  some  stir  in  town.  Some  ex- 
pressed the  belief  that  it  was  the  watchmen  who  set 


86  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

the  stone  in  motion  ;  the  citizens  then  took  turns  on 
the  night  watch,  by  way  of  paying  some  portion  of 
their  taxes,  and  it  was  said  that  the  watch  were  not 
always  exempt  from  a  mischievous  disposition,  and 
that  many  mad  pranks  were  of  their  commission. 
Others  held  that  the  stone  must  have  fallen  off  the 
pile  and  set  out  on  its  travels  on  its  own  account. 
We  never  contradicted  this  reasonable  supposition, 
being  well  content  that  the  stone  should  bear  the 
whole  weight  of  its  transgression. 

Withingtofl,  the  local  poet,  who  used  to  sell  his 
rhymes  about  the  streets,  printed  on  broadsides, 
made  a  song  concerning  the  event,  beginning, — 

"  Oh,  have  you  heard  the  news  of  late, 
How  down  the  street  came  rolling  straight, 

At  midnight's  witching  hour, 
A  mighty  stone  that  found  its  way 
Where,  in  death's  grasp,  our  neighbor  lay, 
And  '  waked  '  him  with  its  power?  " 

We  boys  all  bought  a  copy,  and  I  have  mine  lying 
by  me  yet. 

But  who  stole  that  molasses  candy  ?  We  never 
knew.  Some  months  after,  Jim  Norton,  while  play- 
ing with  other  boys  in  one  of  the  old  disused  distil- 
leries, found  an  empty  platter,  which  Bill  Truman 
recognized  as  his  father's  property.  But  nothing 
further  came  of  it.  The  disappearance  of  that  candy 
remains  a  mystery. 


GENERAL    MUSTER. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GENERAL        MUSTER. 

"  GOING  to  general  muster?"  said  Si  Sumner,  one 
bright  September  morning,  as  we  trudged  along  to 
school. 

"  I  guess  so,"  was  my  reply. 

"  It 's  going  to  be  out  on  the  plains,  and  all  the 
companies  will  be  there,  and  I  should  n't  wonder  if 
there  was  a  sham  fight." 

"That'll  be  jolly!" 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  continued  Si,  with  the  inspira- 
tion of  a  happy  thought,  "let's  get  up  a  company 
and  march  out  with  'em.  It  '11  be  fun." 

"  Agreed  !     And  Ben  Hunter  shall  be  captain." 

There  was  a  strong  military  spirit  prevailing  in 
those  days,  fully  shared  by  the  boys  of  Liberty 
Street.  What  holidays  were  those  when  "  The 
Blues"  or  "The  Light  Infantry"  paraded  on  their 
anniversaries,  and  we  followed  the  inspiring  music 
of  fife  and  drum  to  "  the  hill "  where  the  tents  were 
pitched  and  the  target  practice  took  place !  We 
boys  perched  ourselves  on  the  long  line  of  great 
bowlders  which  enclosed  the  field,  on  the  top  of  the 


88  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

hill,  near  "  the  monument,"  and  watched  the  pepper- 
ing of  the  target  with  great  enthusiasm.  Then  the 
prizes — usually  gold  medals  or  a  set  of  silver 
spoons  —  were  bestowed  with  much  ceremony  on 
those  who  made  the  best  shots.  Nor  was  the  worst 
shot  overlooked,  its  unlucky  perpetrator  being  inva- 
riably rewarded  with  a  leather  medal,  accompanied 
with  remarks  more  satirical  than  complimentary. 
On  one  occasion,  I  remember,  the  orator  who  pre- 
sented the  leather  medal  to  the  poorest  shot  of  the 
Infantry,  quoted  Ebenezer  Eliot's  lines,  — 

"  He  does  well  who  does  his  best, 
Is  he  weary  —  let  him  rest." 

After  target  practice  came  the  dinner,  served  in 
a  big  marquee,  followed  by  toasts,  the  telling  of 
stories,  and  the  singing  of  songs.  Sometimes  the 
companies,  on  these  anniversary  occasions,  would 
march  out  to  "Broad's,"  a  famous  hostelry  in  the 
suburbs  of  the  town,  and  celebrate  the  day  with  a 
grand  dinner,  the  bill  of  fare  including  turtle  soup, 
haddock  chowder,  the  usual  meats  and  "fixings,", 
together  with  a  liberal  supply  of  "Volnay,"  Bur- 
gundy, Joli  champagne,  old  Madeira,  Port  and  Cu- 
ra^oa  wines.  From  these  banquetings  the  brave 
troops  marched  home  a  little  unsteady,  sometimes 
discharging  their  muskets  as  they  marched,  to  the 


GENERAL    MUSTER.  89 

imminent  peril  of  each  other's  whiskers  and  eye- 
brows. 

But  the  occasion  of  greatest  sport  was  the  annual 
May  training.  We  boys  never  failed  to  absent  our- 
selves from  school  on  these  occasions.  Then  all  the 
companies  turned  out  for  inspection,  including  "  the 
old  militia."  This  latter  designation  was  applied  to 
the  ununiformed  companies,  of  which  each  ward  of 
the  city  was  expected  to  furnish  one.  A  motley 
crowd  they  were  !  As  each  man  was  compelled  to 
furnish  his  own  arms  and  equipments,  the  weapons 
mustered  would  have  formed  an  interesting  collection 
in  an  antiquarian  museum.  One  tall'  youth  came 
with  an  old  queen's  arm  ;  another  appeared  with  his 
father's  fowling-piece ;  a  third  brought  a  rifle,  and  a 
fourth  a  blunderbuss.  Joe  Witham  once  appeared 
on  the  muster  ground  with  an  umbrella-stick.  When 
remonstrated  with  by  the  angry  officer  in  command, 
Joe  declared  that  his  stick  "  would  open  and  shut 
in  a  way  to  frighten  the  stoutest  bull,  let  alone 
John  Bull  himself  !  " 

When  this  motley  company  was  marshalled  in  a 
long,  wavering  line,  the  captain,  lieutenants,  and  en- 
sign, gorgeously  arrayed  in  blue  uniforms  with  gold 
stripes  down  the  trousers  legs,  and  with  enormous 
cliapeaus  on  their  heads,  took  their  positions,  and 
the  order  was  shouted  forth,  "  Shoulder  arms  !  " 


QO  THE   BOYf  OF  THIRTY-FIVE. 

Up  went  the  old  muskets,  fowling-pieces,  and 
blunderbusses,  one  after  the  other,  presenting  a  for- 
midable array.  The  next  thing  in  order  was  to 
wheel  the  line  into  ranks.  This  was  not  accom- 
plished without  much  confusion  and  a  good  deal  of 
swearing  on  the  part  of  the  officers,  but  being  at 
last  effected,  the  order,  "  Forward  —  inarch  !  "  was 
shouted  forth,  and  away  marched  the  company,  with 
a  bobtail  of  boys,  to  the  muster-field. 

Arrived  on  the  ground,  the  line  was  again  formed, 
and  the  company  put  through  the  manual  of  arms, 
with  many  awkward  blunders  and  consequent  objur- 
gations on  the  part  of  the  officers.  Jonathan  Blood- 
good,  a  tall  cobbler,  who  commanded  the  company 
from  Ward  Three,  having  his  company  in  line  in 
front  of  a  board  fence,  drew  his  "  cheese-knife  "  as 
he  called  his  sword,  and  shouted  the  order  to  "  Charge 
bagnets ! " 

Away  went  the  intrepid  troop,  and  down  went 
the  fence,  with  not  a  few  of  the  men  prostrate  among 
the  ruins.  Jonathan's  company  was  the  only  one 
that  reported  a  list  of  wounded  on  that  eventful  day. 
Truman  Osgood,  a  short,  stumpy  private,  could  never 
keep  step. 

"  Put  your  right  foot  forward,"  said  the  officer  in 
command. 

"  I  can't  tell  which  is  which,"  replied  Truman. 


GENERAL    MUSTER.  91 

"  Don't  you  know  your  left  foot  from  your  right  ? 
Then  I  '11  mark  it  for  you." 

Procuring  a  piece  of  chalk,  the  officer  made  a  broad 
white  cross  on  Truman's  left  shoe,  which  enabled 
that  sturdy  youth  to  keep  step  with  his  comrades. 

Much  rivalry  existed  between  the  "  volunteer  com- 
panies" of  those  days.  The  Blues  were  jealous  of 
the  Light  Infantry,  and  the  animosity  between  the 
two  companies  led  to  some  exciting  encounters  on 
the  annual  parades.  One  of  the  companies  would 
sometimes  form  a  line  across  the  street,  in  advance 
of  the  other,  and  thus  block  the  way,  compelling  a 
halt.  Then  would  follow  manoeuvring  to  obstruct 
the  advance,  until  the  men  got  warmed  up,  when 
collisions  would  occur,  with  rough  usage  on  both 
sides. 

On  one  occasion  the  Light  Infantry  achieved  a 
great  triumph  over  the  Blues.  The  latter  company 
had  got  possession  of  a  new  movement,  which  was 
secretly  practised  in  the  armory  with  the  intention  of 
bringing  it  out  at  May  training,  to  the  astonishment 
and  chagrin  of  the  Light  Infantry ;  a  member  of  the 
Infantry  got  wind  of  this,  and,  secreting  himself  in  a 
position  in  the  armory  adjoining  that  of  the  Blues 
which  enabled  him  to  observe  the  movement,  after 
gaining  a  thorough  comprehension  of  it,  hurried  away 
to  the  cobbler's  shop  of  a  comrade,  where  he  repro- 


Q2  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

duced  the  movement  by  cutting  it  out  on  a  piece  of 
leather.  Notifications  were  immediately  sent  out, 
the  members  of  the  Infantry  assembled  in  their 
armory  that  evening,  and  by  diligent  practice  soon 
acquired  proficiency  in  the  new  movement.  Every 
member  was  sworn  to  profound  secrecy,  the  inten- 
tion being  to  forestall  the  Blues  in  the  public  exhibi- 
tion of  their  own  evolution. 

May  training  came  two  days  later,  and  the  Infantry 
were  careful  to  be  the  first  on  the  march.  Arriving 
at  the  corner  of  Middle  and  Exchange  Streets,  they 
drew  up  in  line  and  awaited  the  approach  of  the 
Blues.  As  the  latter  marched  past,  the  orders  were 
shouted  out  by  the  captain  of  the  Infantry,  and  his 
company  went  through  the  evolution  which  the  Blues 
had  so  secretly  cherished  as  their  own  exclusive  prop- 
erty. The  chagrin  and  exasperation  of  the  Blues 
was  highly  enjoyed  by  the  Infantry,  and  the  affair 
did  not  tend  to  promote  good  feeling  between  the 
two  companies. 

Ben  Hunter  readily  fell  into  the  plan  of  forming  a 
military  company.  Ben  was  of  a  martial  spirit  and 
easily  assumed  a  tone  of  command. 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  as  we  gathered  one  afternoon  in 
the  coach-house  of  the  stage  company's  stable,  "  you 
must  be  armed  with  spears,  wooden  swords  won't  do  ; 
we  can  cut  some  poles  and  get  the  spear-heads  at 


GENERAL    MUSTER.  93 

Cross's  tin  shop.  The  officers  must  carry  swords, 
tin  ones,  if  they  can't  do  better,  but  I  shall  carry  my 
grandfather's  sword,  with  which  he  fought  at  Bunker 
Hill." 

We  all  looked  at  Ben  with  admiration,  and  when  at 
the  muster  in  the  lumber-yard  he  buckled  on  the 

sword  of  his  grandfather,  the  scabbard  of  which,  by 

• 
the  way,  trailed  upon  the  ground,  he  was  the  hero 

of  the  hour. 

After  much  drilling  in  the  seclusion  of  the  lumber- 
yard, it  was  agreed  that  we  should  make  a  public  par- 
ade. Out  we  marched  boldly  into  Liberty  Street ; 
although  I  confess  that  as  first  lieutenant  I  was  a 
little  nervous  about  the  prominent  appearance  I  was 
about  to  make  in  the  eyes  of  the  public. 

As  we  turned  into  Cross  Street  we  encountered 
Ross's  long  truck  extended  across  the  street.  Here 
was  a  barricade  to  be  carried  at  the  point  of  the  bay- 
onet, or  rather  spear-head. 

"  Charge  ! "  cried  Capt.  Hunter. 

But  as  he  gallantly  rushed  forward  to  lead  his  men 
to  the  encounter,  the  scabbard  of  his  grandfather's 
sword  got  between  his  legs  and  tripped  him  up.  He 
fell  sprawling  across  the  truck,  and  just  then  the  horse 
attached  to  it,  known  as  "  Old  Sleepy  Davy,"  suddenly 
woke  up,  and  wheeling  around,  brought  down  the  long 
truck,  with  the  sweep  of  an  alligator's  tail,  upon  the 


94  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

whole  company,  who  fell  to  the'ground  by  the  score, 
—  or  rather  the  half-score,  as  there  were  but  ten  pri- 
vates and  three  officers.  Such  a  scrambling  and 
shouting  as  ensued !  Capt.  Ben  was  first  upon  his 
feet,  giving  the  order  to  "  Fall  into  line." 

"  We  've  had  one  fall,  a'ready,"  said  Tim  Bunce, 
rubbing  his  shins,  with  his  customary  grimace,  "  and 
that's  enough  for  me." 

So  thought  we  all  of  us,  and  the  company  was  then 
and  there  dismissed  for  the  day.  The  list  of  casual- 
ties comprised  three  shins  barked,  one  arm  bruised, 
and  two  spears  broken.  As  this  was  our  first  engage- 
ment, it  was  thought  the  company  highly  distinguished 
itself.  The  enemy  —  comprising  "Sleepy  Davy" 
and  Hay-bag  Ross,  the  latter  of  whom  appeared  upon 
the  scene  at  the  critical  moment  —  was  captured, 
horse,  foot,  and  dragoons,  and  driven  off  in  triumph  to 
their  customary  stand  at  the  junction  of  Liberty  and 
Middle  Streets,  where  "  Sleepy  Davy  "  soon  fell  into 
his  habitual  doze. 

In  view  of  possible  encounters  on  the  road,  and 
more  especially  in  consideration  of  the  spiteful  deris- 
ion of  our  hereditary  enemies,  the  Hog-Towners,  it 
was  unanimously  voted  not  to  march  to  the  muster- 
field,  but  to  assemble  on  the  ground,  "armed  and 
equipped  as  the  law  directs." 

On  the  morning  of  the  eventful  day  the  members 


GENERAL    MUSTER.  95 

of  the  company  were  therefore  at  liberty  to  proceed 
to  the  headquarters  of  the  military  having  their  armo- 
ries in  the  third  story  of  the  town-hall  in  Market 
Square.  This  was  a  favorite  resort  of  us  boys  when- 
ever there  was  a  training.  Each  of  the  four  uni- 
formed companies,  the  Blues,  the  Light  Infantry,  the 
Artillery,  and  the  Rifle  Corps,  had  an  armory  in  one 
of  the  four  corners  of  the  open  loft,  the  centre  of 
which  was  used  as  a  drill-room.  These  armories,  in 
addition  to  the  racks  filled  with  brightly  burnished 
swords  and  guns,  were  adorned  with  highly  colored 
engravings  of  military  heroes,  upon  which  we  gazed 
with  great  awe  and  admiration. 

What  a  scene  of  bustle  and  admired  confusion  was 
the  drill-room  on  the  morning  of  general  muster! 
Soldiers  in  gay  uniforms  donning  their  equipments, 
officers  bustling  about  with  an  air  of  great  impor- 
tance, the  calling  of  the  roll,  the  word  of  command, 
the  tap  of  the  drum,  and  the  imposing  march  down 
the  grand  staircase  into  the  street ! 

Then  the  regimental  line  was  formed,  the  "old 
militia"  —  the  various  companies  of  which  had  as- 
sembled in  their  several  wards —  forming  the  extreme 
left.  The  regimental  officers  dashed  about  on  horse- 
back, the  companies  wheeled  into  columns,  and  the 
regiment  began  the  march  up  Main  Street  towards 
the  muster-ground  on  "  the  plains." 


96  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

What  a  motley  array  it  presented,  to  be  sure ! 
Each  of  the  uniformed  companies  was  arrayed  in  an 
entirely  different  uniform,  one  wearing  huge  bear- 
skin caps,  another  cloth  caps  with  tall  nodding 
plumes,  while  the  ununiformed  companies  appeared 
in  rusty  garb  of  every-day  wear.  Nearly  every 
company  had  some  sort  of  music,  and  each  band 
played  a  different  tune.  Nevertheless,  it  was  a  stir- 
ring and  a  glorious  pageant !  The  street  was  lined 
with  spectators,  women  and  children  flocked  to 
doors  and  windows  to  gaze  upon  the  unwonted 
spectacle,  and  we  boys  followed  after  in  an  admiring 
crowd. 

The  march  to  the  plains  was  over  a  dusty  road, 
calling  for  frequent  halts  and  much  consumption  of 
water,  not  unmingled  with  something  stronger. 
Arrived  at  the  scene  of  the  muster,  a  level,  grass- 
grown  plain,  in  the  adjoining  town  of  Eastbrook,  the 
regiment  was  drawn  up  in  a  line,  other  companies 
from  neighboring  towns  falling  into  their  places. 
Among  these  was  the  Duck  Pond  Light  Infantry,  in 
white  pantaloons  and  blue  coats,  and  the  Eastbrook 
Artillery,  numbering  fifteen  privates.  The  captain  of 
the  artillery  asked  Capt.  Bradford,  of  the  Landsport 
Artillery,  to  loan  him  a  file  of  men  to  eke  out  his 
scanty  ranks,  but  that  officer  thought  it  better  that 
each  should  command  his  own  men.  These  com- 


GENERAL    MUSTER.  97 

panics  came  upon  the  ground  to  the  stirring  music  of 
fife  and  drum  and  with  a  grand  military  air. 

Uncle  Bishop  now  appeared  upon  the  scene  bear- 
ing a  huge  leathern  bag  filled  with  silver  half-dollars, 
and  passing  along  the  line  dealt  out  a  silver  half- 
dollar  to  each  private  as  pay  for  the  day's  service. 
Thus  munificent  was  the  State  !  The  regiment  now 
marched  to  a  neighboring  field,  where  tents  were 
pitched  and  evolutions  were  to  be  performed. 

Capt.  Hunter,  thought  it  high  time  to  call  his  com- 
pany together.  We  had  come  upon  the  ground  in  a 
somewhat  straggling  manner,  Jim  Norton  limping  in 
the  rear  because  of  a  wound  received  in  the  action 
with  "  Sleepy  Davy."  The  roll  being  called,  every 
boy  drew  his  spear-head  from  his  pocket  and  screwed 
it  upon  its  pole.  Being  thus  armed  and  equipped, 
the  line  was  formed,  and  we  marched  away  to  the 
muster-field,  Capt.  Hunter  flourishing  his  grand- 
father's sword  in  a  most  heroic  manner.  After  much 
marching  and  countermarching,  the  company  was 
drawn  up  for  drill  in  double  line. 

"Rear  rank,  open  order,"  shouted  Capt.  Hunter. 

The  rear  rank  stepped  backward,  but  in  doing  so 
unfortunately  stumbled  over  a  tub  of  lemonade  which 
had  been  prepared  for  the  refreshment  of  the  East- 
brook  Artillery,  after  the  arduous  duties  of  the  day. 
Tim  Bunce  and  little  Ned  Thompson  fell  slap  into 


98  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

the  tub,  causing  a  great  overflow  and  waste  of  the 
grateful  beverage.  Thereupon  the  commissary  of 
the  Artillery  rushed  out  of  a  tent  near  by,  and  seizing 
Tim  with  one  hand  and  Ned  with  the  other,  not  only 
rescued  them  from  all  danger  of  drowning,  but 
knocked  their  heads  together  in  so  vigorous  a  man- 
ner that  they  were  at  once  restored  to  a  very  lively 
consciousness  of  their  perilous  situation. 

"  To  the  rescue,  boys,"  shouted  Capt  Hunter, 
whereupon  a  half-dozen  of  us  fell  upon  the  commis- 
sary and  soon  rolled  him  upon  the  ground.  In  the 
melee  the  tub  of  lemonade  was  capsized,  and  the 
commissary  got  more  than  his  share  of  the  refreshing 
beverage.  As  he  rose  dripping  from  the  ground, 
clutching  a  half-lemon  in  each  hand,  and  with  ven- 
geance in  his  eye,  several  of  his  comrades  came  run- 
ning to  his  rescue.  "The  Liberty  Street  Lancers," 
finding  the  enemy  likely  to  be  too  strong  for  them, 
thereupon  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

"  Wring  me  out,  boys,"  said  Tim  Bunce,  as  we 
gathered  in  a  sunny  corner  of  the  field,  whither  we  had 
retired  for  the  purpose  of  drying  our  drenched  gar- 
ments ;  "  wring  me  out,  and  you  can  all  have  a  swig !  " 

"  Men,"  cried  Capt.  Hunter,  with  an  air  that  com- 
manded attention,  "this  is  our  second  engagement, 
and  I  move  it  be  known  in  our  annals  as  the  Battle 
of  the  Tub." 


GENERAL    MUSTER.  99 

"  Seems  to  me  it  was  more  like  a  naval  engage- 
ment," said  Tim.  "I  am  sure  I  swam  ashore." 

"  I  wish  some  of  the  lemonade  in  my  shoe  had 
gone  down  my  throat,"  added  little  Ned  Thompson, 
dolefully  ;  "  I  'm  getting  awful  dry." 

"  And  I  'm  getting  hungry,  too,"  said  Joe  Jameson. 
"  And  that  reminds  me,  boys,  that  my  uncle  keeps  the 
tavern  at  the  corner,  where  all  the  officers  are  going 
to  dine  to-day,  and  he  has  invited  me  to  get  my  din- 
ner there.  You  come  on,  and  I'll  chuck  you  out 
something  to  eat." 

Nothing  loath,  we  all  accepted  Joe's  second-hand 
invitation,  and  sending  him  forward  as  a  forager,  we 
advanced  upon  the  tavern  in  good  order.  Joe  en- 
tered the  house  boldly,  and  after  waiting  some  time 
we  saw  his  head  appearing  from  an  upper  window. 
Beckoning  to  us,  he  began  dropping  down  rolls  and 
slices  of  beef,  which  we  caught  in  our  caps. 

While  thus  busily  engaged,  and  just  as  Joe  had 
said,  "  Here  you  go  again,  boys,"  we  saw  his  head 
suddenly  disappear  from  the  window  with  a  jerk, 
while  a  gruff  voice  exclaimed,  — 

"  What  does  all  this  mean,  you  young  scamp  ?  " 

Rightly   concluding     that    Joe's     uncle     did    not 

approve  of  his  foraging  operations,  we  withdrew  to 

a  safe  distance  and  awaited  his  appearance.     He  came 

out  presently,  looking  rather  crestfallen,  but  said, — 


IOO  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Never  mind,  boys,  I  've  got  a  lot  of  grub  in  my 
pockets." 

Just  then  a  familiar  voice  cried,  "  Here 's  your 
gingerbread  and  spruce  beer."  And  turning,  we 
beheld  Hay-bag  Ross  presiding  at  a  booth  with  great 
activity.  We  immediately  resolved  to  patronize 
home  enterprise,  and  soon  made  a  great  reduction  in 
Hay-bag's  stock  of  edibles. 

It  was  now  time  for  the  sham  fight,  with  which 
the  day's  manoeuvres  were  to  end,  and  we  therefore 
proceeded  to  the  muster-field  to  witness  the  exciting 
scene. 

"Tell  you  what,  fellers,"  said  Jim  Norton,  "this  is 
going  to  be  a  regular  battle.  My  cousin,  Sam 
Brown,  is  in  the  Light  Infantry,  and  he  says  they're 
going  to  fire  with  balls." 

"  You  must  be  a  greeny  if  you  believe  that,"  said 
Capt.  Hunter;  "why,  somebody  *d  get  killed." 

A  discharge  of  musketry  hurried  us  on,  and  we 
found  the  regiment  drawn  up  in  two  long,  wavering 
lines,  alternately  popping  away  at  each  other.  The 
firing  was  a  little  irregular  ;  first,  a  simultaneous  dis- 
charge of  muskets,  and  then  the  laggards  came  pop- 
ping along,  one  after  the  other,  like  the  sputtering  of 
a  half-spent  fire. 

Presently  an  advance  was  ordered  by  the  com- 
mander of  the  Americans,  but  the  captain  of  the 


GENERAL     MUSTER.  IOI 

Duck  Pond  Light  Infantry  stood  gawking  about, 
entirely  oblivious  of  the  order.  As  his  company 
occupied  the  extreme  left,  and  the  line  moved  on  to 
the  right,  he  and  his  company  were  left  detached 
and  exposed  to  the  enemy's  charge.  Observing  his 
danger,  Adjutant  Jones  dashed  down  upon  him  with 
an  angry  order,  but  he  came  too  late.  The  enemy 
had  seen  the  opportunity,  and  moving  a  detachment 
forward  on  the  double  quick,  completely  surrounded 
the  surprised  Duck-Ponders,  who  found  themselves 
prisoners  of  war  before  they  knew  that  an  advance 
had  been  ordered. 

Enraged  at  this  blunder,  Adjutant  Jones  detached 
two  companies  and  came  down  to  the  rescue.  A 
hand-to-hand  conflict  ensued,  and  the  remainder  of 
the  contending  forces,  observing  the  critical  state  of 
affairs,  broke  ranks  and  came  helter-skelter  to  join 
in  the  fray.  There  was  much  clubbing  of  muskets, 
knocking  down,  and  dragging  out,  while  the  officers, 
dashing  about  the  combatants  on  horseback,  yelled 
themselves  hoarse  in  issuing  commands  that  were 
wholly  unheeded. 

We  boys  looked  on  in  excited  amusement.  Capt. 
Hunter  was  half  disposed  to  order  a  charge  by  the 
Liberty  Street  Lancers,  but  he  prudently  forbore. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  it  was  going  to  be  a  real  bat- 
tle ?  "  said  Jim  Norton. 


IO2  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  I  should  say  it  was  more  like  a  drunken  row," 
replied  Joe  Jameson,  who  had  been  very  sober  since 
the  admonition  administered  by  his  uncle. 

Truth  to  tell,  the  liquor  drank  by  the  soldiers  dur- 
ing the  day  was,  in  large  degree,,  the  animating  spirit 
of  the  conflict. 

By  this  time  the  officers  had  succeeded  in  disen- 
tangling the  excited  combatants.  The  line  was 
formed  again,  the  regiment  dismissed  with  a  repri- 
mand, and  the  Landsport  companies  marched  back 
to  town,  we  boys  following  as  best  our  weary  legs 
would  let  us. 


THE   LIBERTY   STREET   LANCERS.  1 03 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE     LIBERTY     STREET     LANCERS     GO      INTO     WINTER 
QUARTERS. 

THERE  was  a  great  fall  of  snow  early  in  the 
winter  succeeding  the  autumn  of  the  memorable 
sham  fight  on  the  plains.  The  Liberty  Street  Lan- 
cers had  kept  up  their  organization,  meeting  on  stated 
occasions  in  the  lumber-yard  for  drill  in  the  manual 
of  arms.  On  one  occasion  they  had  made  a  grand 
parade  through  the  town,  Joe  Jameson,  as  ensign, 
proudly  bearing  a  banner  wrought  by  the  fair  hands 
of  the  sisters  and  cousins  of  the  members. 

It  was  on  this  parade  that  they  encountered  a  band 
of  their  hereditary  enemies,  the  Hog-Towners.  Now 
just  who  the  Hog-Towners  were,  or  in  what  porcine 
portion  of  the  town  they  abode,  was  never  quite 
clear  to  my  apprehension.  There  was  a  mystery 
about  them  like  that  which  surrounded  the  hordes  of 
barbarians  who  came  down  from  the  north  on  the 
cities  of  the  ancient  Romans.  I  only  knew  that  they 
came  from  up-town  somewhere,  that  there  was  an 
ancient  grudge  between  them  and  the  Liberty 
Street  boys,  and  that  they  were  accustomed  to  make 


IO4  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

predatory  raids  on  the  possessions  of  the  latter. 
When  a  Liberty-Streeter  met  a  Hog-Towner,  fierce 
scowls  were  exchanged,  leading  sometimes  to  fiercer 
words,  and  not  unfrequently  to  hot  encounters. 

On  this  particular  occasion,  the  Hog-Towners 
began  the  fray  by  discharging  a  volley  of  stones  at 
the  company  as  it  marched  along  with  gallant  bear- 
ing. This  was  immediately  resented  by  a  charge 
upon  the  enemy,  Capt.  Hunter  leading  the  attack 
with  the  sword  of  his  grandfather.  The  enemy 
were  put  to  inglorious  flight,  skulking  away  behind 
fences,  from  which  safe  covert  they  returned  a  few 
scattering  shots.  The  Lancers  marched  proudly  off 
the  field  in  good  order.  We  heard  later,  from  scouts 
who  ventured  into  the  outskirts  of  the  unexplored 
Hog-Town,  that  they  had  sworn  vengeance  against 
us,  but  we  valorously  laughed  them  to  scorn. 

Meantime,  as  I  have  said,  winter  came  on, 
with  abundance  of  snow,  covering  the  land  with  a 
great  white  mantle,  peopling  our  accustomed  haunts 
with  fantastic  forms.  The  stacks  of  hoop-poles  in 
the  lumber-yard  loomed  up  like  Arctic  giants,  and 
seemed  to  be  reaching  out  long  arms  to  seize  us. 
The  piles  of  boards  took  on  the  aspect  of  snowy 
mountain  ranges.  Si  Sumner,  who  had  been  reading 
q.  book  of  European  travel,  named  them  the  Alps,  one 
ofty  pile  receiving  the  designation  of  Mont  Blanc. 


THE    LIBERTY    STREET   LANCERS.  10$ 

We  boys  fairly  revelled  in  the  snow.  We  could 
not  understand  what  our  fathers  and  mothers  were 
complaining  about  when  they  grumbled  at  its  depth. 
Such  fun  it  was  to  shovel  paths,  to  tunnel  through 
the  drifts,  to  climb  high  fences  and  leap  into  the 
depths,  to  lose  ourselves  in  them  and  come  up  again, 
all  snowy  white  and  rosy  red  ;  to  tumble  each  other 
over  in  the  soft  bed,  to  wallow  in  it,  to  toss  great 
masses  at  each  other,  to  make  snow-balls,  and  engage 
in  a  regular  pitched  battle.  Ah  !  how  exhilarating  is 
the  snow  to  youthful  blood !  How  the  spirits  rise  at 
the  thought  of  wrestling  with  it ;  how  it  excites  to 
the  encounter  with  wintry  winds,  with  bitter  cold,  and 
how  it  strengthens  the  courage  and  toughens  the 
frame  for  the  greater  encounters  of  life  which  are 
sure  to  come  !  But,  ah  me  !  how  the  very  sight  of  it 
sends  a  shiver  down  the  backs  of  us  rheumatic  old 
fellows  who  have  had  our  day  ! 

"  Boys!"  said  Ben  Hunter,  one  day,  after  a  lively 
game  of  snowballing,  "  it 's  time  the  Lancers  went 
into  winter  quarters.  We  must  build  a  fort." 

"Agreed!"  cried  we  all,  and  forthwith  a  council 
was  held  to  determine  plans  and  location.  It  was 
agreed  that  the  lumber-yard  should  be  the  scene  of 
operations,  and  that  a  detail  of  men  should  work  at 
the  construction  of  the  fort  on  half-holidays.  Si 
Sumner,  whose  father  was  a  carpenter  and  builder, 


IO6  THE   BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

was  appointed  master  workman,  and  he  immediately 
proceeded  to  lay  out  the  plan  of  the  fort  in  the  form  of 
a  square.  Capt.  Hunter  said  there  must  be  bastions 
and  bomb-proofs,  but  Si  made  some  demur  to  this. 

Meantime  the  snow  was  cleared  away  from  a  level 
spot  and  great  blocks  of  the  damp  material  were 
squared  and  shaped  for  the  walls.  Joe  Jameson 
proposed  that  we  should  pour  water  on  them  and 
let  it  freeze  over  night,  to  make  the  blocks  solid. 
This  was  done,  and  soon  the  walls  began  to  rise  and 
assume  a  formidable  appearance. 

Ben  Hunter  insisted  that  we  must  have  a  powder 
magazine  in  which  to  store  our  ammunition,  said 
ammunition  consisting  of  a  heap  of  well-hardened 
snow-balls.  There  was  much  discussion  as  to  how 
this  magazine,  which  must  be  bomb-proof,  should  be 
constructed.  At  last  a  happy  thought  struck  me.  I 
proposed  that  a  tunnel  should  be  made  through  the 
rear  wall  of  the  fort  into  the  snow-bank  outside; 
that  into  this  should  be  inserted  longitudinally  an 
empty  hogshead  lying  in  the  lumber-yard.  The 
snow  should  then  be  beaten  down  upon  the  hogs- 
head and  hardened  by  repeated  freezings  of  water 
sprinkled  upon  it  at  night,  the  hogshead  to  be  then 
withdrawn,  and  the  circular  aperture  thus  left  shaped 
into  an  arched  apartment  by  squaring  down  the  side 
walls. 


THE    LIBERTY    STREET    LANCERS.  IO/ 

This  plan  was  carried  out  so  far  as  inserting  the 
hogshead  and  beating  down  the  snow  upon  it,  but 
an  unfriendly  thaw  setting  in,  the  struQture  caved  in 
as  the  hogshead  was  withdrawn.  Nothing  daunted, 
however,  we  repeated  the  operation,  and  a  cold  snap 
coming  on,  the  walls  became  so  solid  as  to  stand  firm 
on  the  second  withdrawal  of  the  hogshead.  Our 
magazine  was  soon  well  filled  with  ammunition,  little 
Ned  Thompson,  as  powder-monkey,  spending  much 
time  in  shaping  and  storing  the  snow-balls. 

Meantime  the  construction  of  the  walls  had  gone 
on  bravely,  the  corners  being  strengthened  by  tow- 
ers, on  the  summit  of  one  of  which  proudly  waved 
the  banner  of  the  Lancers. 

"  Tell  you  what  !  "  said  Capt.  Hunter,  as  he  stood 
gazing  admiringly  upon  the  completed  work,  "this 
is  a  fort  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  Now  let  the  enemy 
come  on,  if  they  dare." 

He  little  knew  how  near  at  hand  was  the  attack. 

Next  day,  while  at  dinner,  I  was  startled  by  little 
Jenny  Ross  rushing  into  the  house,  with  her  hood 
falling  off  her  head,  her  cheeks  all  aflame,  and  shout- 
ing,— 

"  Harry  !  Harry !  The  Hog-Towners,  the  Hog- 
towners !  They  are  tearing  down  the  fort  !  " 

Dropping  knife  and  fork,  I  rushed  out  of  the  house, 
and  running  through  the  passage  into  the  lumber- 


IO8  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

yard,  beheld  a  startling  scene.  The  enemy  were  in- 
deed there  in  full  force,  and  busily  engaged  in  de- 
molishing the  walls  of  our  much-prized  fortification. 
For  a  moment  I  stood  paralyzed,  then  seized  with 
fiery  indignation,  I  shouted,  — 

"  Come  out  of  that,  you  cowards  !  " 
The  enemy  now  for  the  first  time  observed  me, 
and  my  challenge  brought  a  shower  of  our  own  snow- 
balls down  upon  me.  I  retired  in  good  order  behind 
a  corner  of  the  shed,  but  kept  up  a  desultory  fire  in 
return,  accompanied  with  such  threats  as,  — 

"  You  '11  catch  it  for  this !  You  dare  n't  come 
when  we  are  in  the  fort." 

Meantime  the  Hog-Towners  went  on  demolishing 
the  fort  in  great  haste,  evidently  fearing  that  its  ab- 
sent garrison  might  come  to  the  rescue  before  their 
work  of  destruction  was  accomplished.  I  peppered 
them  as  fast  as  I  could,  but  being  one  against  many, 
they  paid  but  little  attention  to  me.  Presently  I 
heard  a  voice  shouting,  — 
"  Give  it  to  'em,  Harry  !  " 

It  came  from  Bill  Truman,  who,  with  his  head 
thrust  out  of  one  of  the  many  windows  of  the  twine 
factory,  was  cheering  me  on  to  the  conflict.  The 
enemy's  attention  being  thus  drawn  to  this  new  ally 
of  mine,  a  shower  of  balls  was  directed  against  him, 
one  of  which  struck  Bill  fairly  on  the  head  and 


THE    LIBERTY    STREET    LANCERS.  IOQ 

caused  him  to  suddenly  withdraw  from  the  field  of 
view. 

I  now  advanced  from  behind  the  corner  of  the 
shed,  and  with  a  well-aimed  ball  struck  the  leader  of 
the  Hog-Towners  full  in  the  face.  Enraged  by  this 
he  leaped  forward,  shouting  savagely,  and  was  about 
to  pounce  upon  me  when  another  ball,  from  some 

* 

unobserved  hand  in  the  rear,  struck  him  in  the  back 
of  the  neck.  Alarmed  at  this  attack  in  the  rear,  he 
turned  about  and  we  both  beheld  little  Ned  Thomp- 
son, half  buried  in  a  heap  of  snow  on  the  top  of  one 
of  the  highest  piles  of  boards  behind  the  fort.  He 
had  heard  the  noise  of  the  conflict  at  his  home  down 
Cross  Street,  and  wading  through  the  snow  across 
Chaddock's  intervening  garden,  had  climbed  the  pile 
nearest  the  fence,  from  the  top  of  which  he  looked 
down  upon  the  scene  of  combat  as  from  a  vantage- 
ground. 

"  Good  for  you,  Ned  !  "  I  shouted.  "  Hit  him 
again ! " 

Ned  needed  no  urging,  and  being  a  good  shot,  his 
balls  began  to  tell  on  the  invaders,  who,  finding 
themselves  attacked  front  and  rear,  began  to  think  of 
beating  a  retreat.  Their  leader,  however,  determined 
to  punish  me  before  retiring,  and  therefore  ordered 
an  attack  upon  me  in  full  force.  On  they  came,  pelt- 
ing me  with  snow-balls  as  they  advanced.  Thinking 


IIO  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

discretion  the  better  part  of  valor,  in  this  particular 
instance,  at  least,  I  retired  to  the  porch  of  our  house 
and  awaited  their  attack  upon  the  steps. 

At  this  moment  a  ball  thrown  by  their  leader 
struck  me  on  the  forehead  and  caused  me  to  see 
stars  for  a  moment.  My  adversary  shouted  in 
triumph  as  he  saw  me  rubbing  my  head  ;  but  while 
his  mouth  was  widely  distended  in  exultant  laughter, 
a  ball  from  an  unexpected  quarter  entered  it  and  sud- 
denly stopped  his  wind.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
with  his  arms  extended,  his  mouth  full  of  snow,  and 
his  eyes  sticking  out  of  his  head,  as  if  he  had  been 
suddenly  sent  for  and  could  n't  go. 

"That  '11  stop  your  mouth  !  "  shouted  a  voice  I  well 
knew,  and  turning,, I  beheld  Tim  Bunce  in  the  gate- 
way, dancing  and  grimacing,  his  splay  foot  keeping 
time  to  the  bobbing  of  his  fiery  red  head. 

"  Fire  away,  Harry  ! "  said  he,  "  I  'm  coming ! " 

Just  then  the  enemy  found  themselves  attacked  in 
the  rear  by  Ned  Thompson,  while  other  members  of 
the  Lancers,  having  been  hastily  summoned  by  little 
Jenny,  began  to  gather  on  their  front.  Ben  Hunter, 
Joe  Jameson,  and  Si  Sumner  came  running  one  after 
the  other,  eager  to  wreak  vengeance  on  the  invaders. 
The  battle  grew  warm  for  a  time,  and  the  Hog- 
Towners,  finding  themselves  likely  to  be  surrounded 
in  their  enemy's  country,  beat  a  retreat  through  the 


THE    LIBERTY    STREET    LANCERS.  Ill 

lumber-yard  and  into  the  street,  retiring  rapidly 
towards  their  own  territory,  but  keeping  up  a  scat- 
tering fire  from  their  rear-guard  as  we  followed  them 
up. 

The  enemy  having  been  beaten  off,  we  repaired  to 
the  fort  to  learn  how  far  they  had  succeeded  in 
demolishing  it.  What  a  scene  of  ruin  met  our  gaze ! 
The  walls  were  thrown  down  to  the  foundation,  the 
roof  of  the  magazine  was  broken  in,  and  all  our  am- 
munition was  gone.  A  council  of  war  was  hastily 
called,  and  it  was  determined  to  rebuild  the  fort 
forthwith.  It  would  never  do  to  allow  the  envious 
Hog-Towners  to  exult  in  the  thought  that  they  had 
forever  destroyed  the  stronghold  of  the  Liberty- 
Streeters. 

Accordingly  we  set  at  work  with  a  will,  and  soon 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  walls  restored. 
While  thus  engaged  a  few  days  after  the  battle,  Ned 
Thompson  remarked,  — 

"Boys,  little  Jenny  Ross  is  sick.  They  say  she 
caught  cold  running  through  the  snow  on  the  day 
the  Hog-Towners  came  down,  and  now  she  's  got  a 
fever." 

This  was  sad  news  to  all  of  us.  Jenny  was  a  gen- 
eral favorite.  She  was  a  bright,  active  little  girl, 
and  had  taken  great  interest  in  the  building  of  our 
fort.  She  used  to  come  and  look  on  as  the  walls 


112  THE   BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

went  up,  encouraging  us  in  our  work  by  her  admir- 
ing remarks.  She  was  the  first  to  discover  the 
attack  of  the  Hog-Towners  and  to  give  the  alarm. 

"  Tell  you  what,  fellers,"  said  Si  Sumner,  "  Jenny 
is  a  jolly  girl,  and  if  anything  happens  to  her,  I  shall 
hate  the  Hog-Towners  worse  than  ever." 

This  was  the  universal  sentiment,  and  as  day  by 
day  we  heard  that  Jenny  grew  worse  we  became  sad 
and  thoughtful.  At  a  meeting  of  the  Lancers  held 
in  the  stable  office,  Jenny's  condition  was  seriously 
discussed,  and  it  was  unanimously  resolved  that  some 
expression  of  our  regard  for  her  was  due  from  the 
company. 

Accordingly  a  contribution  was  raised  among  the 
members  to  buy  a  dozen  oranges,  and  I  was  deputed 
to  present  them  to  her  in  the  name  of  the  company. 

"  Get  the  best  you  can  find,  Harry,"  said  Ben 
Hunter,  "  Delande  has  got  some  big  Hayanas." 

I  took  great  pains  in  picking  out  the  oranges  to 
get  sound  and  ripe  ones,  and  went  with  a  sinking 
heart  to  the  door  of  Jenny's  home.  It  was  a  humble 
cottage,  and  I  can  see  now  the  little  dark  room  into 
which  I  was  admitted  by  Jenny's  mother,  a  toil-worn, 
sad-faced  woman.  Little  Jenny  lay  in  the  bed, 
moaning  with  pain.  All  the  brightness  had  gone 
out  of  her  once  sunny  face,  which  was  now  distorted 
with  suffering.  But  as  I  spoke  her  name  she  recog- 


THE    LIBERTY    STREET    LANCERS.  113 

nized  me,  the  moaning  ceased  for  an  instant,  a  smile 
like  a  gleam  of  sunlight  broke  over  her  features,  and 
then  instantly  faded  again  into  a  look  of  anguish. 
That  look  haunts  me  still  I  have  witnessed  many 
painful  scenes,  but  none  lingers  in  my  memory  and 
comes  to  me  in  the  quiet  hours  of  meditation  like 
the  sweet  smile  of  that  dying  child,  breaking  out  in 
the  midst  of  her  anguish  in  recognition  of  her  play- 
fellow, and  recalling  for  an  instant  the  happy  hours 
we  had  spent  together. 

Jenny  died  that  night.  When  it  was  whispered 
around,  next  morning,  among  the  boys,  there  were 
many  sorrowful  faces.  To  most  of  us  it  was  the 
first  time  that  death  had  come  so  near.  I  could 
remember  when  my  mother  first  told  me  that  all 
must  die.  It  seemed  then  an  incredible  thing. 
Now  it  had  become  a  dreadful  reality.  As  some  of 
us  sat  in  Bill  Truman's  cottage,  that  evening,  we 
talked  of  death,  and  -tried  to  bring  it  home  to  our- 
selves that  we  should  see  little  Jenny  no  more.  We 
resolved  to  attend  her  funeral,  and  we  walked,  two 
by  two,  in  the  rear  of  the  little  procession  of  mourn- 
ers that  followed  her  remains  to  the  graveyard  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill. 


H4  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

TAR-BUCKET    NIGHT. 

AMONG  the  peculiar  institutions  of  Landsport  was 
its  manner  of  celebrating  the  birthday  of  George 
Washington,  the  father  of  his  country.  The  origin 
of  the  custom  is  lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity. 
Perhaps  some  fisherman,  landing  with  a  full  fare  on 
the  22d  of  February,  blew  a  joyous  blast  on  his 
horn  in  honor  of  the  day  and  his  own  good  luck,  and 
so  set  all  the  other  horns  a  going ;  perhaps  the  tar- 
barrel  suspended,  during  the  War  of  1812,  from  a 
tall  signal  spar  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  to  be  fired 
should  the  enemy  approach  the  harbor,  suggested 
the  burning  of  tar-buckets  and  bonfires.  However 
this  may  be,  certain  it  is  that  the  blowing  of  fish- 
horns  and  the  burning  of  tar-buckets  on  Washing- 
ton's birthday  had  long  been  a  custom  which  no 
Landsport  boy,  with  any  patriotic  spirit,  could  by 
any  possibility  think  of  foregoing.  If  in  thus  honor- 
ing the  memory  of  our  great  patriot  his  love  of  noise 
and  fun  found  high  gratification,  why,  so  much  the 
better.  There  were,  indeed,  a  few  people  in  the  town 
who  considered  the  custom  "more  honored  in  the 


TAR-BUCKET    NIGHT.  11$ 

breach  than  the  observance,"  but  they  were  ancient 
persons,  in  whom  the  blood  of  youth  had  long  since 
cooled,  and  who,  moreover,  were  suspected  of  a  Tory- 
ish  lack  of  reverence  for  the  hero  in  whose  honor  it 
was  observed. 

As  the  eventful  day  approached  every  boy  took 
pains  to  provide  himself  with  a  long  tin  horn,  the 
manufacture  of  which  was  no  small  item  of  business 
in  the  tinners'  shops.  His  next  care  was  to  procure 
and  secrete  in  the  cellar  or  barn  a  bucket  or  tub  filled 
with  tar  and  other  combustible  materials.  This  it 
was  not  so  easy  to  obtain.  The  ship-yards  and  the 
marine  railway,  where  the  repairing  of  vessels  went 
on,  furnished  most  of  the  tar,  and  I  am  afraid  were 
subjected  to  many  predatory  raids  by  the  baser 
sort  of  boys.  We  Liberty  Streeters  always  got  our 
tar  honestly,  when  we  could.  The  tar-bucket  having 
been  secured,  it  was  placed  on  a  hand-sled  and  set  on 
fire,  to  be  drawn  in  triumphal  procession  through  the 
town. 

On  the  morning  of  the  22d  of  February  every 
boy  sallied  forth  with  his  horn,  and  the  streets  re- 
sounded with  discordant  blasts.  This  uproar  con- 
tinued during  the  day,  and  as  nightfall  approached 
the  tar-buckets  were  drawn  forth,  a  long  string  of 
boys  manning  the  rope  and  blowing  horns  as  they 
marched  along  in  the  light  of  the  blazing  pitch  At 


Il6  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

central   points   bonfires  were  lighted,  around  which 
gathered  admiring  crowds  of  spectators. 

The  biggest  of  these  bonfires  was  always  to  be 
found  at  Gorham's  Corner.  This  was  an  unsavory 
locality  of  the  town,  in  bad  repute  because  of  the 
turbulent  character  of  its  inhabitants  ;  the  centre  of 
sailor  boarding-houses,  and  the  scene  of  street  brawls 
and  drunken  rows.  Now  if  the  Hog-Towners  were 
barbarians  who  swooped  down  upon  us  from  the 
north,  the  Gorham's  Corner  boys  were  pirates  who 
came  up  from  the  sea  and  despoiled  us.  The  former 
were  distant  marauders  from  whom  only  an  occasional 
incursion  was  to  be  feared  ;  the  latter  were  the  enemy 
at  our  gates,  Gorham's  Corner  lying  only  a  short  dis- 
tance away,  at  the  foot  of  Centre  Street.  Between 
the  two  we  Liberty-Streeters  were  trained  to  eternal 
vigilance. 

The  leader  of  the  Gorham's  Corner  boys,  in  my 
time,  was  Dandy  George,  a  big,  rollicking,  dashing 
buccaneer,  who  was  greatly  admired  by  his  followers, 
and  as  cordially  detested  by  us. 

Our  fort  having  been  rebuilt,  —  to  which,  by  the 
way, we  now  gave  the  name  of  Fort  Defiance,  in  allu- 
sion to  the  futile  attempt  of  the  Hog-Towners  to  de- 
stroy it,  —  it  was  resolved  to  celebrate  the  approach- 
ing birthday  of  Washington  with  more  than  usual 
brilliancy.  The  matter  of  way  and  means  was  dis- 


TAR-BUCKET   NIGHT.  1 1/ 

cussed  at  frequent  conferences.  Joe  Jameson  had  a 
big  hand-sled  which  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice  in  the 
cause  of  his  country,  for,  truth  to  tell,  the  sled  was 
usually  consumed,  with  the  tar-bucket  placed  upon  it. 
A  large  supply  of  horns  was  obtained  with  pocket- 
money  saved  for  the  purpose.  But  whence  was  the 
tar-bucket  to  come  ?  Jim  Norton,  who  lived  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  town,  and  was  only  a  Liberty- 
Streeter  by  adoption,  being  a  crony  of  mine,  solved 
the  problem  by  saying,  — 

"  Capt.  McLellan  had  his  brig  in  Sturdivant's 
dock  last  fall,  to  have  her  bottom  graved,  and  the 
men  left  a  half-barrel  with  lots  of  tar  in  the  bottom, 
and  I  know  where  it  is  ! " 

"  Can  you  get  it  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  guess  I  can,  if  Tom  Turner  has  n't  found  it. 
He  's  rummaging  everywhere  for  tar-buckets  for  his 
big  bonfire.  The  half-barrel  is  in  the  old  shed  on  the 
wharf,  and  Dan  Reeves,  who  lives  at  the  head  of  the 
wharf,  will  help  me  get  it.  His  father  is  one  of  the 
calkers,  and  I  know  he  'd  as  lief  we  'd  have  it  as  not." 

Jim  was  accordingly  appointed  a  committee  to  pro- 
cure the  tar-bucket,  with  the  injunction  to  be  spry 
about  it,  lest  Tom  Turner  should  get  it.  The  rest  of 
us  agreed  to  procure  as  much  combustible  matter  as 
possible  with  which  to  fill  the  half-barrel. 

On  the  morning  of  the  226.  we  sallied  forth  with 


Il8  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

our  horns,  Ben  -  Hunter  being  the  first  to  sound  a 
trumpet  call.  Such  a  tooting  as  we  kept  up  all  day 
long !  Our  discordant  blasts  brought  responses 
from  every  part  of  the  town,  and  the  memory  of  the 
father  of  his  country  was  never  more  highly  honored. 

As  evening  approached,  preparations  were  made 
on  all  sides  for  bonfires  and  the  tar-bucket  proces- 
sions. There  was  to  be  a  big  blaze  in  Market 
Square,  and  the  boys  of  every  neighborhood  were  to 
turn  out  with  their  tar-buckets.  As  yet  we  had 
heard  nothing  from  Jim  Norton,  and  we  began  to 
fear  that  he  might  fail  us. 

"I'll  bet  Tom  Turner  got  that  tar-bucket,"  said 
Si  Sumner,  who  was  always  disposed  to  look  on  vthe 
dark  side  of  things. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  said  I,  feeling  bound  to 
stand  up  for  my  friend.  "  Jim 's  wide  awake  and 
knows  what  he  's  about." 

"  That  may  be,"  remarked  Joe  Jameson,  "  but  I 
know  that  Tom  Turner  is  always  on  hand  and  no- 
body ever  gets  ahead  of  him." 

"  Wait  and  see,"  was  my  confident  response. 

Even  as  I  spoke  a  loud  halloo  was  heard  from  the 
direction  of  Middle  Street,  and  presently  Jim  ap- 
peared, with  two  or  three  recruits  whom  he  had 
enlisted  in  his  neighborhood,  dragging  the  tar-barrel 
on  a  sled  behind  them. 


TAR-BUCKET   NIGHT.  I IQ 

"  Good  on  your  head,  Jim  !  "  we  all  shouted. 

"  Boys,"  responded  Jim,  slewing  the  sled  into 
view,  "  this  is  a  prize  from  the  sea,  and  we  liked  to 
have  drowned  Tom  Turner  in  getting  it." 

"  How  was  that  ? " 

"  Why,  just  as  we  were  hauling  the  tar-barrel  out 
of  the  shed,  Tom  Turner  came  down  and  claimed  it 
as  his.  I  said  it  was  n't,  for  Dan  Reeves's  father  said 
I  might  have  it.  Tom  said  it  did  n't  belong  to 
Reeves,  and  the  real  owner  had  given  it  to  him. 
He  tried  to  take  it  away  from  us.  We  pushed  him 
off.  The  wharf  was  slippery,  and  he  slid  to  the  edge 
and  went  overboard.  I  tell  you  we  were  scared 
enough,  but  when  we  got  to  the  edge  of  the  wharf, 
expecting  to  see  Tom  struggling  in  the  water,  there 
he  was  on  a  cake  of  ice,  floating  in  the  dock  !  The 
tide  was  up,  and  he  did  n't  have  far  to  fall,  so  he 
was  n't  hurt,  but  his  fall  had  pushed  the  ice  out  from 
the  wharf,  and  he  was  sailing  away  to  the  other  side 
of  the  dock.  '  A  pleasant  voyage  to  you ! '  said  I, 
but  as  we  were  in  a  hurry,  we  could  n't  stop  to  see 
him  arrive  safe  in  port." 

We  all  laughed  at  Tom's  involuntary  voyage,  and 
at  once  set  about  preparing  for  our  parade.  Ned 
Thompson  came  running  in  at  the  last  moment. 

"  What  made  you  so  late,  Ned  ? " 

"  Mother  made   me  stop   to   change   my   clothes. 


I2O  THE  BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

She  said  she  was  n't  going  to  have  me  coming  home 
with  my  best  jacket  all  over  tar." 

"Why,  Ned,  you  've  outgrown  yourself,"  said  Ben 
Hunter,  with  a  quizzical  look  at  Ned's  arms  and  legs 
protruding  through  a  cast-off  suit. 

Most  of  us  had  taken  the  precaution  to  put  on  our 
old  caps  and  jackets,  knowing  by  experience  that 
those  who  touch  pitch  are  sure  to  be  defiled. 

"  Come,  hurry,  boys,"  cried  Joe  Jameson,  "  it 's 
time  we  were  starting." 

Si  Sumner  and  I  had  been  appointed  firemen,  our 
duty  being  to  walk  by  the  side  of  the  sled  and  poke 
the  fire,  occasionally  adding  new  fuel  to  it,  while 
the  rest,  of  the  company  manned  the  rope,  each 
armed  with  his  long  tin  horn,  and  vigorously  blowing 
it  from  time  to  time  as  breath  held  out.  •% 

Such  a  grand  spectacle  as  we  made  marching  up 
the  street,  with  a  bobtail  of  the  smaller  fry  following 
us !  The  blazing  tar,  the  volume  of  thick  black 
smoke  rolling  up  from  it,  the  tooting  of  the  horns, 
and  the  loud  word  of  command  from  Ben  Hunter, 
with  frequent  hurrahs  at  the  street-corners  ;  the 
meeting  with  other  tar-bucket  companies,  the  ex- 
changing of  salutes,  and  the  bonfires  blazing  in  the 
distance,  all  made  up  a  stirring  and  highly  patri- 
otic scene. 

We  marched  up  Centre  Street  to  Market  Square, 


TAR-BUCKET    NIGHT.  121 

then  around  the  bonfire  in  the  square,  exchanging 
cheers  with  the  crowd  surrounding  it ;  then  down 
Congress  Street,  through  Temple  to  Middle  Street. 
As  we  were  passing  the  head  of  Union  Street  we 
suddenly  heard  a  loud  voice  crying,  — 

"  Go  for  'em,  my  hearties !  " 

Immediately  a  crowd  of  young  ruffians  rushed  out 
of  the  shadow  at  the  corner  of  Union  and  Middle 
Streets,  where  they  had  been  lying  in  wait,  and 
attacked  us  with  a  volley  of  snow-balls.  We  knew 
them  at  once  for  the  Gorham's  Corner  boys.  It  was 
their  custom  to  roam  about  the  streets  and  capture 
tar-buckets  to  be  added  to  their  bonfire  at  the 
corner. 

Dandy  George  was  at  their  head,  and  he  made  a 
rush  for*the  rope,  followed  by  all  his  band  of  maraud- 
ers. A  hand-to-hand  conflict  ensued,  in  which  Ben 
Hunter  grappled  with  Dandy,  and  in  the  struggle 
both  came  near  falling  into  the  blazing  tar-bucket. 
As  it  was,  Ben's  head  hit  the  sled  as  he  fell,  and 
while  we  rushed  to  his  rescue,  tumbling  pell-mell 
over  each  other,  the  Gorham's  Corner  gang  seized 
the  sled  and  ran  off  with  it.  Ben's  head  was  bleed- 
ing as  he  rose,  but  he  declared  he  was  not  much 
hurt,  and  he  was  eager  to  pursue  the  enemy.  While 
we  were  debating  the  best  course  to  take,  a  crowd  of 
boys  was  seen  approaching  up  Middle  Street.  At 


122  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

first  we  took  them  for  another  gang  of  the  Gorham's 
Corner  marauders,  and  prepared  to  stand  on  the 
defensive,  but  Jim  Norton  cried  out,  — 

"It's  the  Down-Towners !  I  see  Dan  Reeves  at 
their  head." 

As  they  came  on  Jim  inquired, — 

"  Where 's  your  tar-bucket,  Dan  ?  " 

"The  Gorham's  Corner  pirates  have  stolen  it," 
was  the  doleful  response. 

"  And  ours,  too,"  we  replied. 

Here  was  a  situation !  Two  despoiled  parties, 
each  eager  for  revenge. 

"Dan,"  said  Ben,  "let's  join  our  forces  and  make 
a  raid  on  them  pirates.  We  can  put  out  their  bon- 
fire and  give  'em  a  thrashing." 

"  Enough  said ! "  replied  Dan,  and  every  boy 
expressed  his  eagerness  to  be  led  to  the  attack. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Joe  Jameson,  who  always 
had  a  prudent  eye  to  ways  and  means,  "  let 's  plan  a 
little  ;  we  'd  better  not  all  go  together,  but  divide  and 
attack  them  on  two  sides.  Besides,  we  want  some- 
thing with  which  to  rake  out  their  bonfire." 

"  Garden  rakes  !  "  said  Ned  Thompson  ;  "  we  've 
got  two  at  home." 

"  Good,"  replied  Ben  Hunter.  "  You  run  and  get 
them,  Ned,  and  the  rest  of  you  get  some  long  poles, 
—  clothes-poles  will  do:  And,  Harry,  while  we  are 


TAR-BUCKET    NIGHT.  123 

getting  things  together,  you  run  down  Centre  Street, 
and  see  how  many  of  them  there  are  at  the  bonfire, 
and  which  will  be  the  best  way  to  go  at  'em." 

Nothing  loath,  away  I  went  toward  the  scene  of 
the  enemy's  triumph.  As  I  approached  the  foot  of 
Centre  Street  I  kept  within  the  shade  of  the  build- 
ings, and  getting  behind  a  flight  of  stairs,  watched 
the  scene  before  me. 

Gorham's  Corner  lay  at  the  meeting  of  five  ways. 
Centre  Street  ran  down  to  it  from  Market  Square. 
Fore  Street  entered  it  on  one  side,  and  Pleasant, 
Danforth,  and  York  Streets  on  the  other,  while  sev- 
eral narrow  alleys  led  from  near  it  down  to  the  shore. 
These  alleys  were  the  haunts  whence  issued  the 
ragged  recruits  of  the  pirate  gang  of  the  corner. 

In  the  centre  of  the  irregular  area  thus  formed 
blazed  the  big  bonfire,  which  was  fed  with  the  prizes 
captured  by  the  marauding  gangs  sent  out  from  this 
stronghold  of  the  common  enemy.  Around  it  was  a 
yelling  and  dancing  crowd,  in  which  men,  women, 
and  children  mingled  with  the  boys,  who  were  the 
heroes  of  the  hour.  To  my  excited  imagination  they 
looked  like  demons,  as  they  leaped  about  in  the 
weird  light  of  the  bonfire. 

While  I  was  looking  on,  Dandy  George  and  his 
gang  came  in,  and  the  cry,  "  Another  prize  !  "  went 
up  from  the  crowd. 


124  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Dandy  George !  "  cried  some 
admiring  follower  of  that  hero,  in  the  crowd. 

Thereupon  Dandy  mounted  a  half-barrel,  and  said 
with  a  magniloquent  air,  — 

"  I  don't  want  any  cheers,  boys,  but  let 's  go  for 
another  prize  ! " 

This  was  greeted  with  loud  cheers,  and  Dandy  and 
his  gang  set  off  down  Fore  Street. 

Now  is  our  time,  thought  I,  and  I  immediately 
formed  a  plan  of  attack.  The  Down-Towners  should 
proceed  down  Cross  Street  and  approach  through 
Fore  Street,  while  our  party  should  go  up  Liberty 
Street  to  South  Street,  and,  coming  down  into  Pleas- 
ant, be  ready  to  attack  the  enemy  on  the  side  oppo- 
site to  that  on  which  the  Down-Towners  were  to 
make  the  assault. 

This  plan  was  readily  adopted  by  the  leaders  of 
both  parties,  with  the  additional  suggestion,  made  by 
Dan  Reeves,  that  his  party  should  go  armed  with 
big  lumps  of  snow  to  throw  upon  the  bonfire,  while 
we  were  then  to  come  on  with  our  rakes  and  poles 
and  finish  the  work  by  scattering  it  abroad. 

As  our  party  entered  Pleasant  Street,  we  came 
near  being  discovered  by  Wild  Madge,  one  of  the 
Gorham's  Corner  girls,  who  had  been  left  to  run 
wild  in  the  streets.  She  was  passing  down  Pleasant 
Street  on  her  way  to  the  bonfire,  when  Ben  Hunter 


TAR-BUCKET    NIGHT.  12$ 

caught  sight  of  her  and  called  a  halt.  We  waited 
until  she  with  her  companions  had  gone  on  their 
way,  shouting  and  singing  as  they  went.  Then 
creeping  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  buildings,  we 
drew  near  the  scene  of  action  just  as  a  loud  shout 
went  up  from  the  Down-Towners,  who,  having  a 
shorter  distance  to  go,  were  first  on  the  ground. 

Dandy  George,  having  taken  away  in  his  maraud- 
ing party  the  more  active  spirits  of  the  corner,  we 
anticipated  an  easy  victory.  The  gang  around  the 
bonfire  were  indeed  taken  by  surprise,  but  they 
stood  their  ground.  The  Down-Towners  rushed  in 
and  threw  their  lumps  of  snow  upon  the  bonfire, 
which  by  this  time  was  burning  low,  but  imme- 
diately found  themselves  engaged  in  a  hand-to-hand 
conflict.  While  the  enemy  was  thus  occupied  we 
went  in  with  a  hurrah,  on  the  side  opposite  to  that 
on  which  the  conflict  raged,  and  with  our  rakes  and 
poles  began  scattering  the  fire  into  the  street. 

While  thus  busily  engaged  we  heard  a  tumult  of 
angry  voices  in  our  rear,  and  beheld  Wild  Madge 
coming  to  the  rescue  at  the  head  of  a  motley  crowd 
of  men,  women,  and  girls,  whom  she  had  rallied  from 
the  outlying  regions  of  the  corner.  From  below 
the  Bank,  from  Tom-cat  Alley,  from  Stetson's  Lane, 
they  poured,  a  raging  mob,  eager  to  wreak  vengeance 
on  the  invaders.  We  faced  about  and  met  them 
with  a  shower  of  snow-balls,  but  on  they  came. 


126  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Fire  !  boys,  fire  !  Meet  them  with  fire,"  cried 
Ben  Hunter,  catching  a  brand  on  his  rake  and  hurl- 
ing it  at  the  advancing  crowd.  His  example  was 
immediately  followed,  so  far  as  we  were  able  to  seize 
the  half-burned  brands  and  fling  them  at  the  enemy. 
These  kept  them  at  bay  for  a  moment,  but  the  men 
of  the  party  rushed  in,  and  seizing  Joe  Jameson  and 
others,  gave  them  a  terrible  cuffing. 

By  this  time  the  bonfire  was  extinguished  and 
darkness  had  shut  down  upon  the  scene.  In  the 
hurly-burly  and  tumult  of  the  conflict  it  was  hard  to 
distinguish  friend  from  foe.  The  Down-Towners, 
hard  pressed  by  the  enemy,  had  retreated  a  short 
distance  down  Fore  Street,  thus  drawing  off  the  origi- 
nal defenders  of  the  bonfire  and  leaving  us  to  deal 
only  with  the  rescuing  party  from  the  alleys. 

We  were  getting  rather  the  worst  of  it,  when  loud 
shouts  were  heard  in  the  distance.  They  came  from 
Dandy  George  and  his  gang  advancing  in  triumph  up 
Fore  Street  with  another  prize.  Missing  the  blaze 
of  their  bonfire  and  hearing  the  noise  of  the  conflict, 
they  suspected  the  cause  and  came  on  with  loud 
cries  for  vengeance. 

Finding  themselves  thus  placed  between  two 
bodies  of  the  enemy,  the  Down-Towners  retreated  up 
Cotton  Street,  and  their  assailants,  joining  Dandy's 
gang,  led  them  on  to  the  assault  upon  us.  But  by 


TAR-BUCKET    NIGHT.  I2/ 

this  time  we  had  drawn  off  up  Pleasant  Street,  and 
in  the  darkness  easily  beat  a  safe  retreat. 

When  we  reached  the  stable-yard,  from  which  we 
had  set  out  in  such  bright  array,  we  were  a  sadly 
dilapidated  and  crestfallen  company. 

"  Boys,"  said  Tim  Bunce,  "  let 's  count  up  the 
killed  and  wounded.  There 's  Ben  Hunter,  got  a 
bloody  head.  Joe  Jameson,  ears  are  tingling  yet,  I 
reckon.  Si  Sumner  has  got  one  trousers  leg  left, 
but  won't  he  catch  it  for  that  daub  of.  tar  on  his 
jacket !  "  fc 

"  Shut  up  !  "  retorted  Si  ;  "  your  red  head  has 
turned  black  with  the  tar  on  it ! " 

"  See  how  my  hand  is  burned  by  that  brand  I 
threw  at  'em,"  said  Ned  Thompson. 

"Never  mind,  boys,"  cried  Ben  Hunter,  "we've 
put  out  their  bonfire,  and  that 's  glory  enough  for  one 
night." 


128  THE  BOYS   OF  THIRTY-FIVE. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

STUB-SHORTS. 

EARLY  one  Saturday  morning,  not  long  after  the 
battle  of  the  bonfire,  I  was  awakened  by  a  most  dis- 
cordant noise  partaking  of  the  nature  of  a  screech 
and  a  growl.  Lying  still  awhile  to  listen,  and 
thinking  in  my  half-dreamy  state  that  perhaps  the 
"  Grand  Caravan  "  had  arrived,  with  all  its  wild  ani- 
mals, I  heard,  mingling  with  the  screeching  and 
growling,  loud  cries  of  "  Gee,  Star,"  and  "  Haw, 
Buck."  Then  I  knew  that  the  ear-splitting  noise 
was  caused  by  the  sleds  of  the  board  teams  grinding 
over  the  frozen  snow  on  their  way  from  Saccarappa 
to  the  wharves. 

Our  town  was  a  great  lumber  port  in  those  days, 
shipping  staves,  heading,  and  boards  to  the  West 
Indies  in  low-decked  brigs,  which  brought  back 
molasses,  sugar,  and  tropical  fruits.  Molasses  was 
the  great  staple  of  importation,  much  of  it  being 
converted  into  rum  in  our  distilleries,  while  not  a 
little  went  to  sweeten  the  coffee  and  cakes  of  the 
country  people.  The  loading  of  the  lumber  and  the 


STUB-SHORTS. 

unloading  of  the  molasses  made  lively  times  on  the 
wharves,  and  they  were  favorite,  though  half-forbid- 
den resorts  of  us  boys  on  half -holidays.  Grand- 
mother had  told  me  never  to  go  near  the  wharves. 
I  might  get  drowned.  She  had  known  a  boy  who 
had  been  drowned  by  falling  through  a  hole  in  the 
ice  while  skating  on  the  frozen  surface  of  the  har- 
bor. Still  I  did  not  consider  the  prohibition  absolute, 
and  occasionally  went  down  with  Hay-bag  Ross  on 
his  chipping  expeditions ;  for,  in  addition  to  his  gath- 
ering of  fodder  for  "  Sleepy  Davy,"  Hay-bag  was 
accustomed  to  put  up  the  stub-shorts  which  fell 
under  the  adze  of  the  stevedore  in  the  preparation 
for  stowage  in  the  hold  of  the  vessel.  These  stub- 
shorts  made  excellent  kindling,  and  eked  out  the 
fuel  in  many  a  household. 

The  grinding  noise  of  the  sleds  reminded  me  that 
I  had  promised  Hay-bag  to  go  down  to  the  wharves 
with  him  that  very  day.  Accordingly  I  joined  him 
early  in  the  afternoon,  taking  Si  Sumner  and  Jim 
Norton  along.  Hay-bag  had  provided  himself,  for 
the  bestowal  of  the  stub-shorts,  with  a  huge  basket 
strapped  to  his  back. 

It  was  one  of  those  bright,  brisk  winter  days 
which  are  so  exhilarating  a  feature  of  our  New  Eng- 
land climate.  The  sky  was  clear  and  deeply  blue, 
the  sunshine  bright,  and  the  air  stimulating  as  a  cor- 
9 


I3O  THE   BOYS   OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

dial.  It  was  so  bracing  and  invigorating  that  we 
fairly  flew  along,  as  if  it  had  given  us  wings.  A 
light,  dry  snow  had  fallen  the  previous  night,  lodg- 
ing on  post-tops  and  the  naked  branches  of  the  trees 
along  the  walks  and  in  the  gardens  ;  a  southerly 
breeze  springing  up  blew  this  lightly  lodged  snow  in 
fleecy  clouds  about  us  ;  we  toyed  with  it  as  we  ran 
along,  revelling  in  the  bright  sunshine  and  the  bra- 
cing air. 

Our  spirits  were  heightened  by  the  lively  scenes 
around  us  as  we  approached  the  wharves.  Trucks 
loaded  with  hogsheads  of  molasses  were  straining  up 
the  steep  bank ;  the  slow-moving  ox-teams  from 
Saccarappa  were  going  down ;  there  was  a  busy 
throng  of  merchants,  ship-masters,  sailors,  and  steve- 
dores attending  the  discharging  of  cargoes  and  the 
loading  of  vessels  for  Havana,  Guadalupe,  or  Trin- 
idad. 

As  we  reached  the  head  of  Central  Wharf,  there 
passed  us  a  long  line  of  red  pungs,  driven  by  tall 
men  in  blue  frocks,  with  red  sashes  about  their 
waists,  who  stood  up  on  short  tail-boards  projecting 
from  the  rear  of  the  pungs,  which  were  loaded  with 
cheese  and  round  hogs.  These  were  Vermonters, 
who  had  come  down  through  the  Notch  of  the 
White  Mountains,  from  their  homes,  more  than  a 
hundred  miles  distant,  to  exchange  their  products 


STUB-SHORTS.  13! 

for  sugar,  salt  fish,  rum,  and  molasses,  with  a  side  of 
sole-leather  over  all. 

"Them  's  the  Varmonters,"  said  Hay-bag.  "  Do  ye 
see  them  round  red  boxes  in  the  pungs  ?  They  've 
got  their  grub  in  them ;  big  doughnuts,  I  tell  ye,  and 
cheese  !  "  And  Hay-bag  smacked  his  lips  as  if  already 
tasting  those  luxuries. 

"  Hah  !  "  replied  Jim  Norton,  with  great  disgust. 
"  I  've  tasted  them  doughnuts  and  there  ain't  no 
sweetening  in  'em.  But  the  cheese  is  good." 

Arrived  at  the  scene  of  operations,  we  found  a 
stevedore  on  top  of  a  high  pile  of  boards,  adze  in 
hand,  with  which  he  was  dexterously  cutting  off  the 
short  stub  left  on  one  end  of  each  board  in  sawing 
the  log.  The  stub  having  been  removed  on  one 
side,  he  turned  the  board  over  with  the  projecting 
point  on  the  back  of  the  adze,  and  proceeded  to  make 
that  side  smooth  also.  This  was  necessary  to  the 
better  stowage  of  the  boards,  which  were  then 
passed  into  the  hold  of  the  vessel,  where  the  head 
stevedore  superintended  the  stowage. 

We  found  a  crowd  of  boys,  with  baskets,  already 
on  the  ground,  and  each  stub-short  that  fell  was 
eagerly  seized.  Hay-bag  found  the  filling  of  his 
basket  no  speedy  matter,  but  with  our  aid  the  task 
was  at  last  accomplished. 

"  Now  let 's  go  and  lob  molasses,"  said  Hay-bag. 


132  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

Nothing  loath,  we  proceeded  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  wharf,  where  a  brig  recently  arrived  from  Car- 
denas was  discharging  a  cargo  of  molasses.  As 
each  hogshead  was  hoisted  from  the  hold  by  the  men 
at  the  winch,  it  was  swung  on  to  the  wharf,  where 
coopers  were  engaged  in  rehooping  those  hogsheads 
which  had  sprung  aleak.  A  custom-house  officer 
was  taking  account  of  each  hogshead  as  it  came  up, 
while  on  the  wharf  the  gaugers,  with  overalls  drawn 
over  their  trousers,  were  measuring  the  contents  of 
each,  and  scratching  it  down  in  hieroglyphics  on  the 
side  of  the  cask. 

In  order  to  measure  the  molasses,  it  was  necessary 
to  knock  out  the  bungs  of  the  hogsheads,  which  was 
done  by  striking  on  each  side  of  them  with  a  wooden 
mallet.  The  molasses  being  new,  and  still  working, 
it  bubbled  up  in  a  thick  froth  through  the  bung-hole 
of  the  hogshead.  This  was  our  opportunity.  With 
improvised  spoons,  made  of  bits  of  shingles,  we  pro- 
ceeded to  "  lob"  the  luscious  foam. 

A  crowd  of  boys  and  girls  from  Gorham's  Corner 
were  present,  engaged  in  dipping  the  escaping  mo- 
lasses into  tin  pails  for  home  use.  One  of  the  boys 
recognized  me  as  having  been  present  at  the  battle 
of  the  bonfire,  and  with  an  angry  scowl  cried  out, 
"Here's  a  Liberty  Streeter,"  at  the  same  time  fling- 
ing a  quantity  of  the  sweet  foam  in  my  face. 


STUB-SHORTS.  133 

"  You  stop  that  !  "  shouted  Jim  Norton,  bristling 
up  to  my  assailant,  while  I  busied  myself  in  trying 
to  get  my  eyes  open. 

"  You  had  better  get  the  tar  out  of  your  hair 
before  you  come  down  here,"  was  the  retort  of  the 
Gorham's-Cornerite,  who  remembered  that  on  the 
night  of  the  battle  he  had  given  Jim  a  whack  over 
the  head  with  a  tarry  stick.  The  other  boys  began 
to  gather  about  us,  but  just  as  matters  were  assum- 
ing a  warlike  aspect,  Hay-bag  whispered,  "  Capt. 
Blake  is  coming ! "  and  scampered  off  down  the 
wharf. 

The  captain  did  imihediately  appear  on  the  scene, 
and  seizing  Jim  Norton  with  one  hand  and  my  assail- 
ant with  the  other,  marched  them  into  his  office 
near  at  hand.  Capt.  Blake  was  the  owner  of  the 
cargo  and  had  an  eye  to  the  loss  of  his  molasses 
rather  than  to  the  keeping  of  the  peace  between 
the  two  belligerents. 

We  followed  Hay-bag  and  awaited  the  result  at  a 
distance.  Presently  Jim  came  out  of  the  office,  look- 
ing rather  crestfallen. 

"  What  did  he  do  to  you,  Jim  ? " 

"  He  said  that  if  he  ever  caught  me  here  again 
he  'd  cut  my  legs  off  close  up  to  my  ears.! " 

This  awful  threat  gave  us  a  distaste  for  molasses, 
and  we  proceeded  to  the  end  of  the  wharf,  where 


134  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

lay  the  brig  "  Trim,"  about  to  sail  for  Matanzas. 
The  last  of  the  stores  were  going  on  board,  the  first 
mate  was  on  the  quarter-deck  giving  his  orders  in  a 
loud  and  peremptory  voice,  and  the  sailors  were 
hoisting  the  sails  and  shouting,  "  Ay,  ay,  sir !  " 

Just  then  a  cart  drove  down  the  wharf,  in  which 
was  the  keeper  of  a  sailor  boarding-house,  and  a 
sailor  who,  as  Hay-bag  remarked,  was  "  slewed," 
which  was  the  sea-going  phrase  for  half  intoxicated. 
At  the  last  moment  he  had  made  some  opposition  to 
going  on  the  voyage,  and  so  was  brought  down  in 
custody  of  his  landlord,  who,  having  got  possession 
of  the  advance  of  his  wages,  was  bound  to  see  him 
on  board.  He  refused  to  move  from  the  cart,  in 
which  was  also  his  chest,  but  the  sailor  landlord  and 
the  ship-owner  took  him  by  main  force  and  hustled 
him  on  board,  swearing  as  he  went.  Once  on  deck, 
however,  he  turned  respectfully  to  the  mate  for 
orders,  and  went  at  work  with  a  will. 

The  sails  were  hoisted,  the  lines  cut  off,  and  the 
brig  moved  slowly  down  the  harbor.  We  watched 
her  until  she  entered  the  ship  channel  and  slowly 
faded  from  sight.  She  careened  badly,  as  though  her 
cargo  were  not  well  stowed.  She  was  never  seen  or 
heard  of  again,  having  probably  foundered,  with  all 
on  board.  I  have  often  thought  of  that  poor  sailor  so 
reluctant  to  go  on  what  proved  to  be  his  last  voyage. 


STUB-SHORTS.  135 

As  we  lingered  on  the  wharf,  viewing  the  busy 
scenes  around  us,  Si  Sumner  spied  a  barrel  in  a  cor- 
ner, with  the  bung  temptingly  open.  Thrusting  his 
bit  of  shingle  into  it,  he  took  a  long  lob,  but  immedi- 
ately began  to  spit  and  sputter,  jumping  about  and 
grimacing  horribly. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Si  ?  "  cried  Jim. 

"  Fish-oil !  "  replied  poor  Si,  still  spitting  and  sput- 
tering. 

"  Did  n't  it  taste  good  ?  " 

"  You  'd  better  try  it  !  " 

We  were  quite  willing  to  let  Si  do  all  the  tasting 
in  that  direction. 

At  the  head  of  the  wharf  lay  an  old  brig,  partly 
dismantled.  We  went  on  board  of  her  and  began 
running  about  the  deck. 

"  I  '11  bet  you  can't  touch  the  truck,"  said  Jim 
Norton.  Now  I  had  always  a  disposition  to  climb, 
and  it  had  long  been  my  ambition  to  "  touch  the 
truck/'  as  we  called  reaching  the  block  at  the  mast- 
head, through  which  were  reeved  the  halyards  by 
which  the  ship's  flag  was  hoisted.  It  was  consid- 
ered a  great  achievement,  and  there  was  a  tradition 
among  the  boys  that  Bill  Truman  had  once  not 
only  touched  the  truck,  but  had  actually  thrown 
himself  over  upon  it,  lying  on  his  stomach  and  ex- 
tending his  legs  clear  from  the  mast. 


136  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

I  was  quite  ready  to  accept  Jim's  challenge,  and 
immediately  began  ascending  the  ratlines  of  the 
mainmast. 

"  I  would  n't  go  through  the  lubber-hole,"  said 
Jim,  sarcastically. 

"  Never  you  fear,"  said  I,  as  I  grappled  with  the 
catharpings  by  which  the  maintop  was  reached. 
Going  over  the  catharpings  was  not  an  easy  thing 
to  do,  as  it  compelled  an  outward  incline  in  order  to 
get  over  the  edge  of  the  maintop.  Most  boys  pre- 
ferred crawling  through  the  lubber-hole,  though  by 
so  doing  they  were  subjected  to  much  ridicule  from 
the  more  adventurous  climbers. 

From  the  maintop  I  went  up  to  the  cross-trees  at 
the  head  of  the  topgallant-mast.  From  this  point 
it  was  necessary  to  shin  to  the  mast-head  by  the 
shrouds,  and  here  came  the  difficult  part  of  the 
undertaking.  Unless  a  boy  had  a  steady  head  and  a 
good  grip  he  was  very  apt  to  give  up  the  task  at  this 
point.  I  braced  myself  for  the  effort,  and  shinned 
slowly  up  the  shrouds,  hand  over  hand,  and  with 
knees  closely  hugging  the  rope.  Half-way  up  my 
strength  nearly  failed,  and  a  downward  glance  made 
my  head  swim  a  little.  Remembering  an  old  sailor's 
advice  to  look  aloft  always,  I  cast  my  eyes  upward, 
and,  making  one  vigorous  effort,  hitched  myself  along, 
and  was  soon  able  to  reach  up  and  touch  the  truck. 


STUB-SHORTS.  137 

A  hurrah  went  up  from  my  friends  on  deck,  and  I 
was  glad  to  slide  down  the  shroud  and  reach  the 
maintop,  where  I  paused  to  take  breath.  Here  I 
met  Jim  Norton,  who  said,  — 

"  You  did  well,  Harry.  You  know  Steve  Miles  ? 
Well,  he  came  down  on  the  wharf  once  with  a  lot  of 
fellers,  and  as  he  was  climbing  the  rigging  he  fell 
and  broke  his  arm,  and  all  the  fellers  were  so  scared 
they  ran  away  and  left  him.  If  it  had  n't  been  that 
somebody  going  up  the  wharf  heard  him  crying,  he 
would  have  had  to  stay  there  all  night." 

We  remained  on  board  some  time,  playing  about 
the  deck  and  hauling  at  the  rigging.  The  throat 
halyards  of  the  mainsail  had  rotted  off  at  the  boom, 
and  hung  loose  and  dangling.  Si  Sumner  caught 
hold  of  the  other  end  and  hoisted  it  up.  Thinking 
we  ought  to  leave  things  as  we  found  them,  I  went 
up  the  ratlines  to  reach  the  halyard  and  haul  it 
down.  While  in  this  position  I  was  seen  from  the 
office  window  of  the  owners  of  the  brig,  who  imme- 
diately jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  we  were  steal- 
ing the  rigging  to  sell  for  old  junk.  Out  ran  one 
of  them,  while  the  other  stood  at  the  door  and 
shouted,  — 

"  Give  'em  a  good  thrashing  ' " 

Seeing  danger  ahead,  Si  and  Jim  tumbled  out  on  to 
the  wharf  just  in  time  to  be  caught  by  the  irate  ship- 


138  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

owner,  who  gave  them  both  a  sound  cuffing  about 
the  ears. 

Meantime  I  swung  down  upon  the  deck,  ran  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  brig,  where  I  had  seen  a  calker's 
raft  lying  in  the  dock  and  jumped  down  upon  it.  From 
the  raft  I  saw  a  cake  of  ice  floating  in  the  dock,  upon 
which  I  thought  to  escape  to  the  opposite  wharf.  It 
was  just  beyond  my  reach,  but  getting  down  upon  my 
knees,  and  placing  one  hand  on  a  rim  of  ice  adhering 
to  the  edge  of  the  raft,  I  reached  out  with  the  other 
toward  the  floating  ice.  At  that  moment  the  rim 
of  ice  on  which  my  hand  rested  gave  way,  and  over  I 
went,  turning  a  complete  summersault,  and  bringing 
up  on  the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  the  dock,  in  about 
four  feet  of  water.  I  scrambled  on  to  my  feet,  and 
getting  my  head  above  water,  cried  lustily  for  help. 

The  ship-owner  having  come  on  board  in  search  of 
me,  looked  over  the  rail,  and  seeing  me  rise  dripping 
out  of  the  icy  brine,  cried  out,  — 

"Oh,  you  are  there,  are  you?     Served  you  right." 

"  Help  me  out,"  said  I,  pitifully,  clinging  to  the 
edge  of  the  raft,  on  to  which  I  was  unable  to  climb 
because  of  the  crumbling  ice  along  its  edge.  He 
came  down  on  to  the  raft  very  leisurely,  and  taking 
a  cool  survey  of  my  situation,  instead  of  helping  me 
out,  told  me  to  pick  up  my  cap,  which  was  floating 
near.  Then  he  gave  me  a  hand  and  pulled -me  on  to 
the  raft. 


STUB-SHORTS.  139 

"  Well,"  said  he,  surveying  my  dripping  garments, 
"this  will  teach  you  not  to  come  down  on  to  the 
wharf  stealing  rigging  " 

"  I  was  n't  stealing,"  cried  I,  indignantly. 

"  Don't  tell  me  that,"  was  the  reply. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  protested  my  innocence.  I 
was  told  to  depart,  with  the  injunction  never  to  be 
seen  there  again.  I  went  on  my  way,  burning  with  a 
sense  of  injustice  that  made  me  quite  oblivious  of  my 
drenched  condition.  At  the  head  of  the  wharf  I  met 
Ben  Hunter. 

"  Why,  Harry,"  said  he,  "  you  look  like  a  drowned 
rat." 

"  I  'm  not  drowned,  but  I  wish  old  Harris  was." 
And  I  told  Ben  the  whole  story. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  what  with  the  molasses  on  your 
face  and  your  dip  in  the  brine,  you  are  in  a  sweet 
pickle.  What  will  your  grandmother  say  ? " 

"  Help  me  out,  Ben,  won't  you  ? ' 

"  Yes,  I  will.  You  come  home  with  me,  and  wash 
your  face  and  dry  your  clothes,  and  she  need  never 
know  anything  about  it" 

A  friend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed.  Ben's  mother 
took  me  in  hand,  and  I  was  put  in  so  presentable  a 
condition  that  I  went  home  with  a  light  heart. 


I4O  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 


CHAPTER   X. 

ON   THE   ICE. 

THERE  had  been  a  "cold  snap."  For  three  nights 
in  succession  the  mercury  had  fallen  below  zero.  As 
I  lay  in  my  attic  chamber  I  could  hear  the  nails  snap 
in  the  roof,  —  the  small  artillery  of  the  frost,  —  and 
on  awaking  in  the  morning  their  glistening  heads 
looked  down  upon  me  like  stars.  Oh,  the  getting  out 
of  bed  on  those  cold  mornings  before  the  days  of 
furnaces  and  steam !  It  was  only  repeated  calls 
from  the  foot  of  the  stairs  that  impelled  me  to  fling 
off  the  blankets  in  a  spirit  of  desperation,  and  make 
a  dive  for  my  clothes. 

"Twenty  degrees  below  zero,"  were  the  words  I 
caught  one  morning  on  coming  down  to  breakfast. 
"  At  this  rate  the  harbor  will  be  frozen  over,"  said 
my  uncle  Tom,  who,  as  a  sea-faring  man,  naturally 
had  an  eye  to  the  weather. 

Sure  enough,  on  my  way  to  school  I  overtook  Tim 
Bunce,  who  said,  — 

"  Harry,  the  harbor  froze  over  last  night  and  we  're 
going  a  skating  this  afternoon.  Can't  you  go  with 
us?" 


ON   THE    ICE.  141 

This  was  a  hard  question  to  answer.  I  knew  my 
grandmother's  horror  of  the  ice,  but  then  she  was 
absent  from  home,  having  gone  on  a  visit  into  the 
country.  I  counted  on  persuading  my  aunt  to  per- 
mit me  to  go,  and  not  caring  to  let  Tim  know  that 
I  might  be  prevented  by  home  control,  I  told  him 
quite  confidently  that  I  would  be  on  hand  at  the 
appointed  time. 

It  was  not  so  easy  as  I  had  thought  to  persuade 
my  aunt,  but  after  much  entreaty  a  qualified  permis- 
sion was  given,  with  many  injunctions  to  keep  away 
from  the  dangerous  places  and  to  be  home  early. 

"  Remember,  Harry,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  know 
what  I  could  say  to  your  grandmother  if  anything 
happened  to  you  while  she  is  absent." 

These  words  came  back  to  me  very  vividly  at  a 
later  period  in  the  day. 

As  we  approached  the  narbor  the  scene  that  met 
our.  gaze  was  very  different  from  that  presented  to 
us  on  the  day  of  our  adventures  on  the  wharves.  It 
gave  us  the  other  side  of  winter.  There  were  very 
few  persons  stirring  in  the  streets.  Traffic  had  been 
suspended  by  the  extreme  cold  and  the  superabun- 
dance of  snow.  The  Vermonters  could  n't  get  through 
the  Notch,  and  were  snowed  up  on  the  other  side  of 
the  mountains.  There  was  nothing  doing  on  the 
wharves.  A  few  coasters  that  had  taken  refuge  in 


142  THE   BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

the  harbor  were  caught  in  the  ice.  The  sky  was 
gray  and  leaden,  and  the  surface  of  the  harbor,  in- 
stead of  waves  sparkling  in  the  sunshine,  presented 
a  broad  expanse  of  clear  white  ice  and  snow.  It  was, 
however,  the  scene  of  the  only  activity  visible.  Par- 
ties were  crossing  from  the  wharves  to  the  shore  of 
the  cape  opposite.  Boys  were  dragging  sleds  over 
the  ice,  while  skaters  were  skimming  along  its  sur- 
face in  large  numbers.  It  gave  me  a  strange  sensa- 
tion to  be  walking  where  I  had  never  before  seen 
anything  but  blue  water.  Many  crossed  over  to  the 
cape  merely  for  the  sake  of  saying  they  had  accom- 
plished that  feat.  It  was  a  thing  of  which  to  tell  in 
after  years.  It  was  in  something  of  this  spirit  that, 
after  skating  far  down  the  harbor,  Jim  Norton  said, — 

"  Let 's  go  down  to  Hog  Island  ;  we  're  almost  there 
now." 

It  did  indeed  seem  not  far  away,  but  distances  on 
the  ice,sas  on  the  water,  are  deceptive. 

"  Come  on  !  "  cried  Tim  Bunce,  making  a  gyration 
that  brought  him  down  flat  on  his  back  and  caused 
him  to  see  stars  in  the  leaden  sky  overhead. 

"  We  don't  propose  to  go  that  way,"  said  Jim  ;  "we 
might  touch  bottom." 

Remembering  my  aunt's  injunction,  I  made  a  fee- 
ble remonstrance,  but  was  all  too  easily  persuaded 
to  go  on  with  the  rest.  The  island  seemed  so  near. 


ON    THE    ICE.  143 

As  we  got  farther  down  the  harbor,  off  the  ship 
channel,  the  ice  grew  rough  and  hummucky.  At  in- 
tervals there  were  great  cracks  in  it,  which,  however, 
we  easily  crossed.  As  we  proceeded  still  farther  from 
the  shore  the  scene  around  us  began  to  take  on  a 
strange,  desolate  aspect.  The  way  became  difficult 
and  tiresome.  Skates  had  long  since  been  discarded 
as  useless.  We  rambled  on  for  a  while,  not  without 
some  enjoyment  of  the  novelty  of  the  situation, 
heightened  perhaps  by  a  sense  of  danger.  At  last 
Si  Sumner's  heart  began  to  fail  him. 

"  Look  here,  boys,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  we  have 
gone  far  enough.     It  will  soon  be  getting  dark." 

"  Don't  back  out  now,"  shouted  Jim,  far  in  advance, 
"it  is  only  a  little  farther." 

We  struggled  on  for  some  time  longer,  but  as  the 
ice  grew  more  and  more  rough,  with  great  gaping 
cracks,  and  the  dull  gray  sky  seemed  shutting  down, 
upon  us,  Si  again  remonstrated,  and  we  came  to  a 
halt.  Looking  around  us,  we  were  startled  to  find 
that  we  had  somehow  lost  our  bearings.  In  the 
gathering  gloom  the  familiar  shores  had  taken  on 
new  and  strange  aspects.  And  then  they  seemed  so 
far  away.  Around  us  spread  the  desolate  waste  of 
ice,  presenting  a  broad  barrier  between  us  and  our 
homes.  Our  hearts  sank  as  we  took  in  the  situation. 

"  I  'm  going  back  !  "  cried  Si  Sumner. 


144  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  And  I  '11  go  with  you,"  said  Tim,  who  for  once 
forgot  to  put  on  a  comical  look. 

"  But  which  way  will  you  go  ? "  asked  Jim,  not 
without  some  visible  concern. 

For  my  part,  I  could  n't  answer  the  question.  The 
scene  had  grown  strange  and  terrible  to  me.  I  felt 
that  we  were  lost  on  the  ice.  Si  swept  his  eye 
around  the  fast-narrowing  horizon,  and  pointing  at 
a  dimly  looming  outline  in  the  distance,  said,  — 

"  I  believe  that  is  the  city." 

"No,"  replied  Jim,  "we  didn't  come  that  way. 
We  ought  to  bear  off  more  to  the  left.  Don't  you 
see  that  light  ? " 

"  That  is  on  the  cape,"  said  Si.  "  I  'm  going  the 
other  way." 

"  Do  as  you  please,"  replied  Jim,  who  was  not 
without  a  spice  of  self-will  on  occasion,  "and  see 
who  will  get  home  first." 

He  said  this  quite  bravely,  but  I  knew  there  was 
a  doubt  in  his  mind. 

"Come,  Harry,"  he  continued,  "let's  be  off. 
There  's  no  time  to  be  lost  here." 

Very  reluctantly  I  followed  Jim,  while  Si  and  Tim 
disappeared  in  the  opposite  direction.  They  seemed 
to  me  to  take  with  them  what  little  hope  there  was 
left  to  us.  I  called  after  them,  but  got  no  answer. 
Night  seemed  to  shut  down  upon  us  all  at  once  and 


ON    THE    ICE.  145 

swallow  them  up.  Jim  tried  to  keep  up  a  good  heart 
and  declared  that  we  should  reach  the  city  first.  In 
my  own  mind  there  arose  a  vision  of  home,  of  the 
cosey  fireside,  the  waiting  supper,  and  my  aunt  grow- 
ing anxious  at  my  long  absence. 

"Jim,"  said  I,  with  a  great  sinking  at  my  heart, 
"  are  you  sure  this  is  the  right  way  ?  " 

"  No,  Harry,  I  ain't,  but  I  'm  pretty  certain  the 
other  way  is  n't  right,  either.  The  fact  is,  we  're 
lost." 

He  said  this  with  a  quaver  in  his  voice  that  did 
not  tend  to  encourage  me.  However,  I  felt  it  in- 
cumbent upon  me  to  do  my  share  towards  keeping  a 
stiff  upper  lip,  so  I  said,  — 

"  Well,  we  can't  fail  to  strike  the  shore  some- 
where." 

But  as  we  struggled  on  in  the  increasing  darkness, 
at  times  falling  over  the  icy  hummocks,  which  began 
to  present  the  appearance  of  frozen  waves,  our  des- 
perate situation  began  to  tell  upon  us  with  overpow- 
ering force. 

"  Harry,"  said  Jim,  "  I  'm  sorry  I  asked  you  to 
come  with  me."  And  there  were  tears  in  his  voice. 

"  Never  mind,  Jim,  we  '11  keep  together,  whatever 
happens." 

He  took  my  hand  and  we  stumbled  on  side  by.  side. 
We  had  now  lost  all  sense  of  the  direction  in  which 


146  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

we  were  going,  and  felt  that  we  were  aimlessly  wan- 
dering, we  knew  not  where.  Fatigue  and  cold  and 
hunger  began  to  tell  upon  us,  and  we  no  longer  had 
a  word  of  cheer  to  offer  to  each  other.  How  far 
away  seemed  home  and  friends  and  parents  !  How 
appalling  was  the  desolate  waste  around  us  !  Bit- 
terly did  I  lament  my  folly  in  disobeying  my  aunt. 
Jim's  thoughts,  I  knew,  were  like  my  own,  and  pres- 
ently he  said,  — 

"  Harry,  if  you  get  home,  tell  my  father —  " 

"  Don't,"  sobbed  I. 

Not  another  word  was  said.  We  could  not  trust 
ourselves  to  speak,  but  still  struggled  slowly  on,  un- 
able to  direct  our  steps  in  the  darkness  which  had 
now  shut  down.  It  seemed  to  me  like  the  night  of 
death.  The  world  and  all  its  brightness  had  gone  far 
from  me.  My  heart  was  full  of  pity  for  myself 
and  of  a  great,  dark  fear.  How  terrible  is  death  to 
the  young,  —  death  alone,  in  the  darkness  of  night, 
far  away  from  home  and  friends,  while  the  soul  cries, 
lost  !  lost !  I  could  no  longer  control  myself.  I 
cried  aloud,  — 

"O  Jim!" 

At  that  moment  he  sank  from  my  sight  into  a 
great  gap  in  the  ice.  I  stood  aghast  as  I  saw  him 
clutching  at  the  edge  of  the  ice,  which  crumbled  be- 
neath his  hold. 


ON   THE   ICE.  147 

In  an  instant  a  quick  thought  came  to  my  mind. 
All  this  time  I  had  been  dragging  my  sled  behind 
me.  Again  and  again,  owing  to  the  roughness  of 
the  ice,  I  had  been  tempted  to  abandon  it.  But  it 
was  a  present  to  me  from  a  kind  uncle,  and  I  could 
not  bear  the  thought  of  leaving  it  on  the  ice  to  float 
far  out  to  sea.  Now  I  was  glad  I  had  kept  my  hold 
upon  it.  I  dared  not  venture  near  the  hole  into 
which  Jim  had  fallen.  Indeed,  in  the  darkness,  I 
would  not  well  direct  my  steps,  but  I  heard  him  utter 
an  agonizing  cry,  — 

"  Harry  ! " 

It  was  an  appeal  for  help  that  could  not  be  disre- 
garded. Throwing  myself  flat  on  the  ice,  as  far  for- 
ward as  I  dared,  I  thrust  the  sled  towards  him  and 
held  on  to  the  rope.  Still  clinging  to  the  edge  of 
the  ice,  he  made  a  desperate  reach,  but  lost  his  hold 
and  disappeared  below  the  surface.  I  uttered  a  cry 
of  terror  and  drew  myself  forward.  In  an  instant 
Jim's  head  reappeared,  and  he  said,  gaspingly,  but  in 
a  hopeful  tone,  — 

"  I  've  —  touched  —  bottom  !  " 

I  thrust  the  sled  towards  him,  he  seized  the  bar, 
and  with  a  long  pull  and  a  strong  pull  I  drew  him  on 
to  the  ice.  But,  oh,  how  he  shivered,  and  his  teeth 
chattered,  as  he  said, — 

"  I  touched  bottom,  Harry.  We  can't  be  far  from 
shore.  Hurry  !  quick  !  or  I  shall  freeze  !  " 


148  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

I  seized  him  by  the  arm,  and  making  a  short  circuit 
we  crossed  the  gap  in  the  shore  ice,  and  soon  saw 
looming  before  us  a  high  bank.  What  joy  to  be  on 
land  again !  The  steep  icy  bank  was  not  easily 
climbed,  especially  by  Jim,  encumbered  as  he  was  by 
wet  and  icy  garments.  I  pulled  him  up  to  the  top, 
however,  where  we  found  ourselves  in  a  wood.  We 
pushed  on  through  this  for  some  time,  as  fast  as  we 
would,  and  at  last  emerged  into  an  open  field.  As 
we  entered  this  I  caught  sight  of  a  twinkling  light  in 
the  distance,  which,  however,  instantly  disappeared. 
My  heart  bounded  with  joy,  but  sank  again  with  dis- 
appointment as  the  light  went  out. 

I  felt  certain,  however,  that  I  could  follow  the 
direction  of  the  light,  and  we  strugged  slowly  on 
through  the  deep  snow. 

"Are  you  sure  you  saw  a  light?"  said  Jim,  who 
was  growing  weak  and  faint-hearted. 

"Yes,  I  saw  it  plainly." 

"Maybe  it  was  only  a  jack-a-lantern." 

"No,"  said  I,  assuming  a  confidence  I  did  not 
wholly  feel,  "  it  came  from  a  house,  and  we  shall  find 
it  yet." 

Still  we  stumbled  on  in  the  darkness,  until  Jim 
declared  he  could  go  no  farther.  At  that  moment, 
being  in  advance,  I  struck  against  some  obstacle  in 
the  way.  It  was  a  fence !  We  joyfully  clambered 


ON    THE    ICE.  149 

over  it,  feeling  assured  a  house  could  not  be  far  off. 
In  fact,  we  had  advanced  but  a  few  steps  when  I  ran 
head-foremost  against  a  door.  I  knew  it  was  a  door 
because  the  latch  made  itself  painfully  apparent  to 
my  head.  I  cried  joyfully, — 

"  Here  we  are,  Jim ! "  and  pounded  on  the  door 
with  all  my  strength,  at  the  same  time  crying  loudly 
for  help. 

Presently  a  gruff  voice  asked,  — 

"Who's  there?" 

"Two  lost  boys." 

The  door  was  immediately  opened,  and  we  fairly 
tumbled  into  the  entry.  Some  one  seized  us  both 
and  dragged  us  into  a  room.  By  this  time  a  woman, 
half  dressed,  appeared  with  a  light. 

"  Sakes  alive  ! "  said  she,  "  who  be  ye  ? " 

"  Where  d'  ye  come  from  at  this  time  o'  night  ? " 
said  the  man  who  admitted  us,  a  grizzly  old  fisher- 
man. 

"  Off  the  ice,"  said  I. 

"  And  what  were  ye  a  doin'  on  the  ice  ? " 

"We  got  lost,  and  Jim  fell  into  a  hole." 

"  Lord  a  massy  !  "  said  the  woman,  "don't  ye  see 
the  boys  is  half  froze?  Don't  stand  there  a  jawing 
'em.  Rake  open  the  fire  and  clap  on  some  wood. 
They  must  have  something  hot." 

With  this  the  motherly  old  woman  busied  herself 


I5O  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

in  helping  Jim  strip  off  his  wet  and  half-frozen  gar- 
ments, and  soon  had  him  wrapped  in  comfortable 
blankets,  sitting  before  a  blazing  fire,  kindled  by  the 
old  man. 

"  Now,"  said  the  latter,  "  tell  us  who  ye  be  " 

We  gave  our  names,  with  a  history  of  our  adven- 
tures, and  asked,  — 

"  Where  are  we  ? " 

"  Ye  're  in  Zeb  Stirling's  house  on  Peak's  Island, 
and  it 's  mighty  lucky  for  you  ye  're  here.  You  'd 
no  business  to  go  wandering  on  the  ice  in  sich 
weather  as  this.  It 's  a  wonder  ye  did  n't  freeze  to 
death." 

"Now,  Zeb,"  said  his  wife,  "don't  ye  go  a  scold- 
ing the  boys.  I  'm  proper  glad  we  Ve  got  'em  here, 
safe  and  sound.  But  how  on  airth  did  ye  find  the 
house  in  sich  a  dark  night  ?  " 

"  We  saw  a  light,  but  it  disappeared  as  soon  as  we 
saw  it." 

"  Wall,"  said  the  old  man,  "  it 's  lucky  ye  saw  it  jest 
as  ye  did,  for  we  was  jest  going  to  bed,  and  had  put 
out  the  light,  an'  if  ye  'd  ben  half  a  minit  later  ye 
might  hev  made  your  bed  in  the  snow." 

"  It 's  a  rale  Providence,  if  ever  there  was  one," 
said  the  old  lady,  as  she  handed  Jim  a  steaming  bowl 
of  hot  tea,  and  busied  herself  spreading  large  slices 
of  bread  and  butter,  which  we  were  not  slow  in 


ON   THE    ICE.  151 

devouring.      After  we   were   thoroughly   dried   and 
warmed,  the  old  lady  said,  — 

"It 's  time  ye  was  a  gitting  to  bed,  for  ye  must  be 
awful  tired.  You  '11  hev  to  sleep  in  the  attic,  for  my 
son's  darter  is  a  sleeping  in  the  spare  room  to-night. 
I  wonder  the  gal  has  n't  been  out  here  afore  this, 
arter  all  the  racket.  She's  ginerally  wide  awake 
when  anything 's  going  on,  'cept  in  the  morning, 
when  it's  time  to  git  up,  and  then  she's  ekil,  I  tell 
her,  to  one  o'  the  seven  sleepers." 

As  we  were  preparing  to  mount  the  primitive  open 
staircase  that  led  to  the  loft  I  saw  a  round,  rosy  face, 
peering  with  a  half-wondering,  half-quizzical  expres- 
sion through  a  door  held  slightly  ajar,  in  the  rear  of 
the  room.  Jim  caught  sight  of  the  face  at  the  same 
moment,  and  feeling  that,  wrapped  as  he  was  in  his 
blankets,  —  his  clothes  having  been  hung  by  the  fire 
to  dry,  —  he  did  not  make  a  very  presentable  figure, 
he  hastened  to  get  in  front  of  me,  that  I  might  cover 
his  retreat  to  trie  regions  above. 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  saw  me,  Harry  ? " 

"Well,  she  looked  as  if  she  saw  something 
funny ! " 

"Tell  you  what,  Harry,  you  '11  have  to  go  down  in 
the  morning  and  get  my  clothes  for  me." 

"All  right,"  said  I,  adding,  as  I  cast  a  look  around, 
"  is  n't  this  a  jolly  old  place  ?  " 


152  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

We  were  in  a  small  chamber  under  the  roof,  the 
side  walls  sloping  down  to  the  floor.  In  one  corner 
was  an  old  spinning-wheel,  in  another  an  ancient 
chest  of  drawers,  while  on  the  end  wall  hung  bunches 
of  dried  herbs  and  strings  of  Indian  corn. 

"Yes,"  replied  Jim,  "as  the  old  man  says,  we're 
lucky  to  be  here,  but  what  are  they  thinking  about 
us  at  home  ?  " 

This  gave  us  both  some  anxious  thoughts,  but  as 
we  lay  awake  for  a  while,  we  began  rather  to  enjoy 
the  novelty  of  the  situation.  It  was  so  jolly  to  be 
so  far  away  from  home,  amid  such  new  and  strange 
surroundings,  and,  withal,  to  find  ourselves  so  cosey 
after  our  perilous  adventures. 

"  Harry,"  said  Jim,  "  this  is  equal  to  being  ship- 
wrecked and  cast  ashore  on  a  desolate  island." 

"A  good  deal  better,"  I  replied,  nestling  down  in 
the  blankets.  "  I  would  n't  care  to  make  my  bed  in 
the  snow  to-night." 

"  We  came  plaguy  near  it.  But  won't  this  be  an 
adventure  to  tell  the  boys!" 

With  this  comforting  reflection  we  both  fell  fast 
asleep. 

Some  time  towards  morning  we  were  awakened 
by  the  howling  of  the  wind  and  the  rocking  of  the 
house.  A  storm  had  arisen  in  the  night,  and  the 
wind  whistled  and  shrieked  around  the  corner  of 


ON   THE    ICE.  153 

the  house  like  a  mad  thing.  At  times  it  would  lull 
away,  and  then  come  back  with  a  scream  that  made 
us  cuddle  close  to  each  other.  Then  would  come, a 
hollow  roar  in  the  chimney  and  a  blast  that  shook 
the  house  again.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  demons  of 
the  air  were  circling  about  us  and  seeking  to  demol- 
ish our  shelter.  The  old  house  shivered  and  groaned 
like  a  living  thing.  As  we  lay  and  listened  to  the 
tumult  of  the  elements,  our  thoughts  went  out  upon 
the  ice,  and  Jim  whispered,  in  an  awestruck  tone,  — 

"  Harry,  do  you  s'pose  Si  and  Tim  got  home 
safe?" 

"  O  Jim,  I  cannot  bear  to  think  they  are  on  the 
ice  now  !  They  went  the  other  way,  and  that  would 
carry  them  towards  the  city." 

We  lay  awake  for  a  long  time  listening  to  the 
voices  of  the  gale,  almost  fearing  at  times  that  it 
would  sweep  away  the  house  and  all  in  it.  When 
at  last  the  morning  dawned,  we  found  ridges  of  snow 
on  the  bed  that  had  sifted  in  through  the  cracks  in 
the  roof.  The  storm  still  continued  to  rage,  and  we 
lay  a  long  time  listening  to  its  hollow  roar,  with 
anxious  thoughts  of  home  and  how  we  were  to  get 
there. 

"  Wall,  boys,"  said  the  fisherman,  as  we  appeared 
in  the  room  below,."  it 's  lucky  ye  got  here  jest  as  ye 
did.  This  nor'easter  has  broke  up  the  ice,  and  it' s 


154  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

going  out  of  the  harbor.  Ye  '11  hev  to  stay  here  to- 
day." 

This  was  unwelcome  news.  Knowing  how  anx- 
ious our  friends  would  be  concerning  our  safety, 
we  had  hoped  to  get  home  that  day. 

"  I  should  think  the  ice  might  have  held  out  one 
day  longer,"  said  Jim. 

"  Speak  well  o'  the  bridge  that  carried  ye  safe 
over,  my  lad,"  said  Stirling.  "If  it  hadn't  ben  fer 
the  ice  ye  'd  never  ha'  ben  here  by  this  warm  fire, 
and  ye  'd  never  seen  my  granddarter,  either.  This 
is  Susie." 

The  young  girl  thus  introduced  came  frankly  for- 
ward and  said,  — 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  found  our  house  before  the 
storm  came.  You  must  have  suffered  terribly." 

We  both  very  bravely  protested  that  we  did  n't 
mind  the  cold,  but  were  fain  to  admit  that  we  were 
glad  we  were  sheltered  when  the  storm  came  on. 
Miss  Susie  busied  herself  in  setting  the  table  for 
breakfast,  and  presently  her  grandmother  bustled  in 
with  a  steaming  dish  of  chowder. 

"  I  thought  I  'd  hev  somethin'  hot  for  ye  this  cold 
mornin'.  I  hope  ye  slep'  well  las'  night.  Ye  must 
ha'  ben  proper  tired.  But,  sakes  alive!  /  could  n't 
sleep  a  wink.  Sich  a  howlin'  an'  a  screechin'  as  the 
wind  kept  up,  I  never  did  hear  in  all  my  born  days." 


ON    THE    ICE.  155 

"  Oh,  yes,  ye  hev,  marm,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Don't 
ye  remember  that  heavy  nor' caster  that  blowed  the 
barn  down  ten  years  ago  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  in  a  saddened  tone, 
"  that  was  when  the  "  Hero "  was  wrecked  on  the 
back  side  o'  the  island,  an'  only  one  man  was  saved." 

"  An'  a  narrer  chance  he  hed,  too,"  continued  the 
fisherman  ;  "  I  never  see  the  beat  on  't.  There  was 
twelve  on  'em  aboard,  and  all  on  'em  was  drownded 
but  him.  He  was  down  in  the  hoi'  when  she 
went  to  pieces,  and  he  said  he  thought  his  time  was 
come.  But  he  grabbed  hoi'  of  a  barrel  and  held  on 
for  dear  life,  and  was  jest  washed  ashore  with  it. 
But  come,  boys,  this  'ere  chowder  won't  wait  for  no 
long  yarns." 

After  breakfast  we  went  out  to  take  a  look  at  the 
ice.  As  Stirling  had  said,  it  was  broken  up  by  the 
violence  of  the  gale,  and  in  the  lower  bay  great  frag- 
ments were  tossing  and  heaving,  and  grinding 
together,  while  towards  the  town  we  could  see  blue 
water  and  masses  of  ice  drifting  out  to  sea  through 
the  ship  channel.  It  was  plain  there  was  no  reaching 
our  homes  that  day. 

As  the  gale  continued,  we  returned  to  the  house, 
depressed  with  the  thought  of  the  anxious  ones  at 
home. 

"  I  'm  afraid  they  '11  think  we  are  drowned,"  said 
Jim. 


156  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Stirling,  "  don't  ye  be 
down-hearted.  This  'ere  gale  is  a  driving  the  ice 
right  out  to  sea,  and  by  to-morrow  it  '11  be  all  clear 
water.  Then  father  '11  take  ye  home,  —  he 's  got  to  go 
to  town  any  way  to  git  some  groceries,  —  and  they  '11 
be  proper  glad  to  see  ye,  I  '11  be  bound.  You  set  here 
in  the  forenoon,  and  Susie  she  '11  come  in,  by  and  by, 
and  chirk  ye  up." 

We  were  glad  of  the  company  of  Miss  Susie,  and 
at  her  solicitation  related  our  adventures  on  the  ice 
with  all  the  modesty  of  heroes. 

Susie  expressed  great  sympathy  with  our  suffer- 
ings, and  on  her  part  told  how  she  once  got  adrift  in 
her  grandfather's  boat,  and  was  floating  out  to  sea  in 
a  fog,  when  she  was  picked  up  by  a  fishing  schooner 
entering  the  harbor. 

As  we  sat  conversing,  I  observed,  hanging  on  the 
chimney  above  the  great  open  fireplace,  a  very  long 
fowling-piece,  of  ancient  pattern. 

"  That 's  a  very  old  gun,  is  n't  it,  Miss  Susie,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  grandfather  sets  great  store  by  that  gun. 
He  shot  off  an  Englisman's  hand  with  it." 

"  How  was  that  ? "  I  cried  eagerly,  scenting  a  story 
in  the  distance. 

"  Oh,  it  was  in  the  last  war !  I  don't  remember  the 
rights  of  it.  You  must  get  grandfather  to  tell  you 
how  it  was." 


ON    THE    ICE.  157 

After  supper,  as  we  sat  around  the  open  fire  of 
wood  and  listened  to  the  storm  still  raging  and  shak- 
ing the  loose  window-frames,  the  old  fisherman  en- 
tered, wearing  his  weather-beaten  sou'wester.  He  had 
been  out  doing  his  "  chores,"  he  said,  and  added,  — 

"  This  "ere  rain  '11  finish  the  ice,  boys,  an'  it  will  be 
all  clear  weather  by  mornin'.  We  '11  go  up  to  town 
fluking." 

The  falling  snow  had  indeed  turned  to  rain  ;  we 
could  hear  it  beating  against  the  window-panes,  and 
the  sound  added  a  sense  of  comfort  to  the  cosiness 
of  our  situation. 

As  Stirling  took  his  seat  by  the  fire,  I  ventured  to 
remark,  by  way  of  opening  the  door  to  the  story  of 
the  gun, — 

"  That 's  a  curious  old  fowling-piece  you  've  got  up 
there,  Mr.  Stirling." 

"  Yes,  that  'ere  gun  was  bought  in  Liverpool  mor'n 
forty  year  ago.  Cap'n  Trefethen  paid  fourteen  guin- 
eas for  't.  It 's  a  fowling-piece,  and  many 's  the  old 
squaw  *  I  've  shot  with  it." 

"  It  must  be  a  very  heavy  piece,"  said  Jim. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  old  man,  reaching  up  and  tak- 
ing down  the  gun,  "jest  you  heft  it.  That  'ere  gun 
weighs  twenty-seven  pounds,  and  it's  six  feet  an'  a 
half  long." 

*  A  species  of  wild  duck. 


158  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

We  found  it,  indeed,  difficult  to  hold  it  out  at  arm's 
length. 

"I  suppose,"  said  I,  "that  it  would  send  a  ball  a 
long  distance." 

"  Yes,  I  Ve  knowed  it  to  hit  the  mark  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  off." 

"  Was  that  when  you  hit  the  Englishman's  hand  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ho !  Susie 's  ben  a  telling  ye  about  this,  hes 
she  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  she  said  it  was  in  the  last  war." 

"  Wall,  I  don't  mind  telling  ye  how  't  was.  But 
fust  le'  me  put  another  log  on  the  fire.  There, 
that  '11  last  till  bedtime." 

And  as  he  spoke  the  flame  burst  out  and  went 
crackling  and  dancing  up  the  wide-mouthed  chimney. 

"  But  about  that  shooting  the  Englishman's  hand 
off,"  continued  Mr.  Stirling,  seating  himself  com- 
fortably by  the  blazing  fire.  "Ye  see  in  the  last 
war  the  English  cruisers  used  to  be  mighty  sarsy 
out  here  in  the  bay,  and  chased  and  boarded  us  fish- 
ermen whenever  they  got  a  chance.  One  day  —  it 
was  Independence  Day  —  I  was  hoein'  taters  out  in 
the  field  when  I  see  Neighbor  Clark,  who  went  out 
fishing  in  the  mornin',  pulling  fer  the  shore  for  dear 
life,  with  an  English  armed  schooner  behind  him. 
So  I  said  to  the  chap  who  was  hoein'  with  me,  'Let's 
git  the  guns  and  stand  by  him."  Pretty  soon  the 


ON   THE    ICE.  159 

Englishman  did  n't  dare  come  no  furder-on  account 
of  the  rocks,  so  he  lowered  his  boat,  and  eight  men 
pulled  away  arter  Clark.  He  was  rale  pluck,  and 
held  on  like  a  good  one.  Soon  they  dropped  their 
oars,  and  all  hands  fired  slap  into  him.  Somehow  or 
other  they  did  n't  hit  him,  so  we  hurrahed  and  fired  at 
them  and  they  pulled  off  to  the  schooner  again.  The 
schooner,  she  kep'  along  shore  till  she  got  over  there 
by  the  woods,  an'  then  I  was  afeared  they  'd  come 
ashore  and  steal  a  critter.  So  we  went  over  through 
the  woods,  an'  there  she  lay,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  shore.  When  they  see  us  they  fired  a  nine- 
pounder  at  us.  I  hed  the  big  fowlin'-piece,  an"  so  I 
crep'  up  to  the  bank  and  fired.  She  was  a  full  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  off,  but  I  thought  p'r'aps  I  might  hit  'em. 
Arter  I  fired  they  did  n,'t  seem  to  like  it,  but  fired 
their  old  cannon  at  us  ag'in  and  then  stood  off  an* 
we  saw  no  more  of  'em. 

"  I  never  should  'a'  knowed  what  that  shot  did  if 
it  hed  n't  a  bin  there  was  some  Yankee  prisoners 
aboard.  They  landed  'em  down  to  Harpswell,  an' 
when  they  come  back  they  told  Cap'n  Knights,  that 
lived  over  to  the  ferry  way,  that  that  shot  hit  the 
cap'n  o'  the  schooner  right  in  the  wrist,  so  that  he 
had  to  have  his  hand  cut  off.  He  was  standin'  with 
his  hand  on  the  main  shrouds,  and  the  ball  hit  him 
right  in  the  wrist.  The  Englishmen  swore  the 
Yankees  hed  a  swivel  ashore  there." 


I6O  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Did  they  never  come  ashore  here  during  the 
war?" 

"No,  they  took  good  care  not  to  do  that.  But, 
boys,  it 's  nigh  bedtime.  In  the  mornin'  we  '11  see 
about  gittin  on  ye  home  to  your  folks.  I  s'p'ose 
they  're  proper  scared  about  ye." 

On  awaking  next  morning  we  found  that  it  was  as 
the  old  fisherman  had  said  it  would  be,  bright  and 
clear.  A  northwest  wind  was  blowing,  and  as  we 
looked  out  of  the  little  window  in  our  attic  chamber, 
we  could  see  the  blue  waves  dancing,  where  two  days 
before  all  had  been  dull  ice. 

"  Hurrah  for  home  !  "  shouted  Jim 

We  went  down  the  stairs  with  a  rush,  and  were 
soon  out  upon  the  shore.  Mr.  Stirling  was  preparing 
to  launch  his  boat,  but  to  our  impatient  inquiries 
replied  that  we  must  have  some  breakfast  before 
starting. 

We  had  scarcely  thought  of  that,  but  were  quite 
ready  to  do  justice  to  the  salt  mackerel  and  johnny- 
cake  set  before  us.  Bidding  Mrs.  Stirling  and  Susie 
good  by,  with  hearty  thanks  for  their  kindness,  we 
left  the  house  with  many  parting  injunctions  from 
the  old  lady  to  come  and  visit  her  the  next  summer. 

While  impatiently  waiting  for  Mr.  Stirling  to  get 
his  boat  in  good  trim,  we  chanced  to  spy  another 
boat  coming  down  the  harbor.  We  thought  nothing 


ON    THE    ICE.  l6l 

of  it  at  first,  but  when  we  saw  she  was  making  for 
Hog  Island,  the  thought  struck  me  that  she  might  be 
in  search  of  us.  I  said  as  much  to  Mr.  Stirling,  and 
he  told  me  to  go  up  to  the  house  and  get  his  spy- 
glass, and  we  might  be  able  to  see  who  was  on  board 
of  her.  At  first  I  could  n't  make  them  out,  but  pres- 
ently one  of  the  men  turned  towards  us,  and  I  plainly 
saw  he  was  my  uncle  Tom. 

I  gave  a  shout  and  Jim,  seizing  the  glass,  soon 
cried  out,  — 

"  My  father  is  there,  too." 

Thereupon  we  both  shouted  and  waved  our  caps, 
and  jumped  up  and  down,  until  the  old  fisherman 
said,  — 

"  Why,  boys,  they  '11  think  ye  're  clean  gone  crazy. 
But  shout  away,  an'  you  '11  fetch  'em." 

Our  cries  did  indeed  attract  the  attention  of  the 
men  in  the  boat,  and  presently  we  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  her  come  about  and  make  for  the  spot 
where  we  stood.  As  she  drew  near  I  heard  my 
uncle  say,  — 

"  Thank  God,  it  is  the  boys  !  " 

We  were  not  long  in  leaping  into  the  boat  and 
rushing  into  their  arms.  The  story  of  our  escape 
was  soon  told,  and  Mr.  Stirling,  who  stood  by  with  a 
.smiling  face,  was  heartily  thanked  by  my  uncle  and 
Jim's  father.  He  refused  all  compensation,  saying,  — 


l62  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  The  boys  are  welcome,  an'  I  hope  they  '11  come 
down  again,  but  not  on  the  ice." 

As  we  took  our  seats  in  the  boat,  my  eyes  fell  on  a 
familiar  object  lying  on  the  bottom. 

"  My  sled  !  "  I  cried. 

"  Yes,"  said  my  uncle.  "  We  took  that  off  a  cake 
of  ice  as  we  came  down.  When  we  first  saw  it  I 
did  n't  think  of  picking  it  up,  but  presently  I  recog- 
nized it  as  yours,  and  then  I  thought  I  should  never 
see  you  again.  But  Mr.  Norton  said  he  thought  you 
might  have  abandoned  it  while  making  for  the  land, 
so  I  plucked  up  heart  again." 

"  But  how  did  Si  and  Tim  get  home  ? " 

"  They  had  a  pretty  tough  time  of  it,  but  landed 
back  of  the  Neck,  and  got  home  safe  before  the 
storm  set  in.  Si  said  he  thought  you  must  have 
landed  on  the  cape,  so  we  went  there  first,  and,  not 
hearing  anything  of  you,  were  making  for  Hog 
Island  when  you  hailed  us." 

I  pass  over  the  meeting  with  my  aunt,  who,  it  is 
needless  to  say,  had  been  terribly  alarmed  at  my  long 
absence.  As  for  my  grandmother,  both  my  uncle 
and  aunt  thought  it  best,  on  her  return,  not  to  tell 
her  of  my  adventure  for  the  present.  When  some 
time  after  she  heard  of  it,  she  looked  up  over  her 
glasses  at  me  and  said,  — 

"  Harry ! " 


WE   VISIT   THE   TROPICS.  163 


CHAPTER   XI. 

WE  VISIT   THE   TROPICS   AND    ENGAGE    IN  A  SEA-FIGHT. 

ONE  bright  morning  in  June  a  party  of  us  boys 
found  ourselves  once  more  on  the  wharves.  After 
my  experience  on  the  ice  I  had  no  desire  to  visit 
them  again  during  the  winter,  but  now  the  scene  was 
changed.  The  sun  shone  brightly,  the  air  was  soft 
and  balmy,  with  a  breath  of  spring  in  it  that  seemed 
to  have  been  wafted  from  the  Fortunate  Isles,  a  light 
breeze  rippled  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  the  har- 
bor was  all  alive  with  craft  spreading  their  sails  in 
departure  or  arrival. 

We  had  come  down  to  witness  the  arrival  of  the 
brig  "  Beulah,"  Capt.  Fox,  whom  Ben  Hunter  claimed 
as  his  uncle.  She  had  been  signalled  at  the  Obser- 
vatory, and  the  time-balls  indicated  that  she  was  only 
an  hour's  sail  outside. 

We  took  our  position  at  the  end  of  Long  Wharf, 
and  kept  our  eyes  fastened  on  the  entrance  to  the 
harbor,  a  narrow  passage  running  out  to  sea  between 
the  cape  shore  and  Bangs's  Island.  Presently  Ben 
Hunter  cried  out,  — 


164  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  There  she  is  !  " 

The  topmasts  of  a  brig  were  seen  rising  above  the 
land,  and  she  soon  came  into  view  and  sailed  slowly 
up  the  harbor.  She  was  deeply  ladened,  having  not 
only  a  cargo  of  molasses  in  the  hold,  but  two  tiers  of 
hogsheads  on  deck.  As  she  drew  near  the  wharf 
there  were  bailings  and  greetings  between  the  cap- 
tain and  his  friends,  and  Ben  was  not  behind  in  his 
demonstrations  of  welcome,  which  were  cordially  rec- 
ognized by  his  uncle  on  the  quarter-deck. 

The  sailors  were  running  up  the  rigging  to  furl  the 
sails,  and  among  them  we  recognized  our  old  play- 
mate, Bill  Truman.  Bill  had  left  the  twine  factory  for 
a  sea-faring  life  some  months  before,  and  was  now 
returning  from  his  first  voyage.  We  hailed  him 
with  delight,  to  which  Bill,  being  still  under  ship's 
discipline,  responded  only  by  expressive  gestures. 
Once  on  board,  we  gathered  around  him,  and  Jim 
Norton,  who  had  cherished  longings  to  be  a  sailor, 
which  at  time,  found  expression  in  his  wearing  a  tar- 
paulin hat,  and  dipping  his  hands  in  coal-tar,  in 
Dyer's  ship-yard,  to  give  them  the  real  sailor  grime, 
asked  him,  — 

"  How  do  you  like  being  a  sailor,  Bill  ? " 

"  It 's  a  dog's  life  ;  but  come  down  into  the  fo'cas- 
tle  and  see  how  we  live." 

We  went  down  the  narrow  companionway,  into  a 


WE    VISIT   THE   TROPICS.  165 

dark,  dingy  hole,  the  air  in  which  was  strongly  im- 
pregnated with  a  compound  odor  of  tar,  bilge-water, 
and  sour  molasses.  When  our  eyes  had  become  ac- 
customed to  the  darkness,  we  dimly  discerned  a  row 
of  bunks  on  each  side  of  the  narrow  space,  in  front  of 
each  of  which  was  the  chest  of  the  sailor  occupying  it. 

"  Do  you  sleep  in  there  ? "  asked  Jim,  in  a  tone  of 
disgust. 

"  Sartin,  and  we  're  mighty  glad  to  turn  in  after  a 
watch  on  deck,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Do  you  eat  here,  too  ? " 

"  Of  course  we  do.  You  did  n't  s'pose  we  dined 
with  the  cap'n,  did  you !  Or  p'r'aps  you  thought  we 
had  a  dining-room  set  apart  for  us  !  "  said  Bill,  with  a 
laugh. 

"But  where  's  your  table  ?" 

"  There,"  replied  Bill,  pointing  to  the  floor. 

"  You  don't  sit  on  the  floor  to  eat  your  meals  ! " 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not !  Don't  you  see  the  dining- 
table,  and  the  mahogany  chairs  all  setting  round  ?  " 
replied  Bill,  with  a  quizzical  look.  Then  he  added, 
"  Yes,  Jim,  we  do  sit  on  the  floor,  and  I  '11  tell  you 
how  it 's  done.  One  of  us  goes  to  the  caboose  and 
gets  the  grub  in  a  kid.  It 's  mostly  salt  beef,  and 
mighty  tough  at  that.  He  sets  it  down  here  on  the 
floor,  we  all  squat  round  it,  and  fall  to  with  our  jack- 
knives." 


1 66  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Does  n't  anybody  say  grace  ?  "  asked  Ned  Thomp- 
son, who  was  accustomed  at  home  to  all  the  proprie- 
ties of  a  Christian  table. 

"  Say  grace,"  replied  Bill,  with  a  grin.  "  Oh,  yes, 
we  say  grace !  P'r'aps  you  never  heard  a  sailor's 
prayer  over  his  meat.  I  '11  repeat  it  to  you.  When 
we  're  all  sitting  round  the  kid,  one  of  us  takes  up 
the  toughest  piece  of  beef  and  says,  — 

'  Old  horse  !  old  horse  !  what  brought  you  here  ?  ' 

Then    another    speaks    up  for   the  old    horse,  and 
says,  — 

'  From  Saccarap'  to  Portland  Pier, 
I  've  carted  boards  this  many  a  year, 
Till,  killed  by  blows  and  sore  abuse, 
They  salted  me  down  for  sailors'  use. 
The  sailors  they  do  me  despise, 
They  turn  me  over,  and  damn  my  eyes, 
Cut  off  my  meat,  and  scrape  my  bones, 
And  pitch  me  over  to  Davy  Jones.' 

That's  the  grace  we  say,"  concluded  Bill. 

"  I  should  think  you  'd  say  it  with  a  very  bad 
grace,"  remarked  Jim  Norton,  whose  visions  of  the 
delights  of  a  sailor's  life  began  to  fade  away  before 
this  matter-of-fact  version  of  them. 

"  But  do  you  really  eat  old  horse  ? "  asked  Ned 
Thompson,  in  a  tone  of  horror. 

"  They  say  we  do.     Anyhow,  the  best  pieces  are  all 


WE    VISIT   THE    TROPICS.  l6/ 

picked  out  for  the  cap'n's  table.     We  don't  get  any 
fat,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  That 's  real  mean,"  said  Ned. 

"But  tell  us  about  Havana,"  said  Si  Sumner; 
"  did  n't  you  see  strange  sights  there  ? " 

"  I  did  n't  see  nothing  !  " 

"  Why,  did  n't  you  go  ashore,  and  go  out  to  the 
plantations,  and  see  the  oranges  growing,  and  the 
niggers  and  things  ?  " 

"  No !  you  don't  get  no  chance  to  go  ashore. 
You're  just  kept  aboard,  off  in  the  harbor,  all  the 
time,  working  like  a  slave,  discharging  and  taking  in 
cargo." 

This  revelation  of  a  sailor's  life  fell  like  a  wet 
blanket  on  our  aspirations  for  adventures  and  sight- 
seeing abroad. 

"  Well,"  said  Ned  Thompson,  "  I  'd  rather  go  to 
sea  in  John's  way  than  Jack's  way." 

This  was  in  allusion  to  a  book  we  had  been  read- 
ing, which  told  about  two  boys  who  were  determined 
to  see  the  world,  but  set  about  it  in  different  ways. 
John  learned  a  trade,  was  industrious,  laid  up  money, 
and  then  went  abroad  as  a  passenger,  and  saw  many 
strange  sights  in  foreign  lands,  while  Jack  went  to 
sea  as  a  common  sailor,  never  rose  to  the  quarter- 
deck, because  he  would  not  study  navigation,  and 
saw  nothing  of  the  foreign  lands  whose  ports  he 


1 68  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

visited.  Some  of  us  had  been  disposed  to  stick  out 
stoutly  for  Jack's  way  and  the  charms  of  a  sailor's 
life,  in  spite  of  this  discouraging  view  of  them,  but 
there  was  no  gainsaying  Bill's  account  of  his  experi- 
ence. Jim  Norton  looked  very  much  down  in  the 
mouth. 

"  Cheer  up,"  said  Bill,  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder  ; 
"  you  can  go  to  sea  in  John's  way,  if  you  're  smart 
enough." 

"  Halloa,  down  there  !  "  cried  Ben  Hunter,  thrust- 
ing his  head  down  the  companionway.  He  had  been 
with%his  uncle  in  the  cabin,  while  we  had  been  talk- 
ing with  Bill  in  the  forecastle.  "  Come  on  deck  and 
get  some  sugar-cane." 

We  all  tumbled  up  as  fast  as  possible,  and  found 
Ben  with  a  tall  stalk  of  the  sugar  plant,  which  he 
generously  cut  into  lengths  and  divided  among  Ms. 
As  we  chewed  the  cane  and  sucked  the  saccharine 
juice,  the  gloom  which  the  forecastle  and  its  revela- 
tions of  a  sailor's  hardships  had  thrown  over  us  began 
to  fade  away,  and  a  life  on  the  ocean  wave  assumed 
something  of  its  old  attractiveness.  Presently  Capt. 
Fox  called  out,  — 

"  Boys,  here 's  a  box  of  oranges  partly  decayed ; 
you  can  pick  them  over  and  help  yourselves." 

Matters  now  began  indeed  to  brighten  !  It  was 
as  good  as  being  in  the  West  Indies  to  sit  there 


WE    VISIT   THE    TROPICS.  169 

on  the  quarter-deck  and  suck  sugar-cane  and  eat 
oranges  fresh  from  Havana.  John's  way  could  n't 
be  better  than  this.  There  was  a  tropical  air  in  our 
surroundings  that  carried  us  far  away  from  home. 
The  shipping  around  us,  the  dash  of  the  waves,  the 
balmy  atmosphere,  the  fragrance  of  the  oranges,  all 
conspired  to  transport  us  to  distant  lands  far  away 
over  the  blue  ocean. 

As  we  dipped  into  the  box  of  oranges,  we  threw 
overboard  those  that  were  decayed.  Presently  an 
angry  voice  was  heard,  — 

"  Mind  what  you  're  about  aboard  there  ! " 

We  looked  over  the  rail,  and  there  were  Dandy 
George  and  two  of  his  satellites  going  past  in  a  row- 
boat.  One  of  the  decayed  oranges  had  struck  the 
boat.  As  Ben  leaned  over  the  rail,  and  was  about  to 
reply,  Dandy  splashed  his  oar  in  the  water  and 
threw  a  quantity  of  it  in  Ben's  face.  We  all  sprang 
to  our  feet,  and  Ben  shouted,  gaspingly,  as  he 
mopped  his  face,  "  Pelt  'em,  boys,  pelt  'em  !  " 

How  the  rotten  oranges  did  fly !  Dandy  stood 
stoutly  up  with  his  oar  and  splashed  the  water  at  us, 
but  presently  a  big  orange,  very  much  decayed,  took 
him  fairly  in  the  face,  and  he  dropped  into  the  boat 
as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

"  The  enemy  has  struck  his  colors,"  said  Ben,  but 
he  did  n't  reckon  on  Dandy's  pluck.  That  hero  soon 


I/O  THE    BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

recovered  himself,  and  while  hew  ashed  his  face  with 
one  hand,  still  splashed  away  with  the  other,  at  the 
same  time  exhorting  his  comrades  to  stand  up  to  the 
fight. 

Still  the  oranges  flew,  and  Dandy  and  his  compan- 
ions were  well  bespattered,  while  we  got  an  occa- 
sional drenching  from  their  oars  and  the  baling 
dipper.  As  the  fight  grew  hot  we  no  longer  stopped 
to  select  decayed  fruit,  but  pelted  them  with  sound 
oranges  as  well.  The  golden  balls  were  more  effec- 
tive than  the  rotten  ones.  They  proved  a  temptation 
which  the  enemy  could  not  withstand.  They 
attempted  to  catch  them,  and  were  thus  thrown  off 
their  guard.  As  one  of  them  leaned  back  to  catch 
an  orange,  he  lost  his  balance  and  fell  overboard. 
The  boat  drifted  away  from  him,  and  he  came  up 
alongside  the  brig. 

Bill  Truman,  who  had  hastened  aft  at  the  sound  of 
the  conflict,  snatched  up  a  boat-hook,  and  catching 
the  hook  in  the  seat  of  his  breeches  just  as  he  was 
going  down  again,  held  him  fast,  while  we  ran  to  the 
rescue  and  soon  drew  him  on  board,  dripping  and 
squirming  like  a  sea-green  lobster  fresh  from  the 
brine. 

His  comrades,  seeing  his  rescue,  rowed  away  and 
left  him  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  He 
was  very  disconsolate  at  first,  and  began  to  cry  and 


WE   VISIT    THE   TROPICS. 

swear  and  threaten  vengeance  upon  us  :  but  we  com- 
forted him  with  oranges,  and  when  Ned  Thompson 
added  thereto  a  great  chunk  of  sugar-cane,  his  wrath 
was  mollified,  he  shook  himself  and  fairly  beamed  upon 
us  as  he  scrambled  on  shore  and  ran  up  the  wharf. 

A  little  sweetening  goes  a  great  way  in  conquering 
an  enemy. 


172  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A    VOYAGE    OF    DISCOVERY. 

ON  the  morning  succeeding  our  adventure  on  board 
the  "  Beulah  "  I  met  a  number  of  the  boys  in  the  yard 
of  the  stage-coach  stable.  They  were  discussing  the 
best  way  of  spending  the  half-holiday  of  Saturday. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11  do,"  said  Ben  Hunter. 
"  My  uncle  will  let  us  take  his  yawl  boat  and  we  '11 
go  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  down  the  bay." 

"  Agreed  ! "  cried  we  all. 

"  And  we  '11  take  lines  and  catch  some  fish,"  said 
Si  Sumner. 

"  And  a  pan  to  fry  them  in,"  added  Tim  Bunce. 

"Yes,  and  some  biscuit,"  continued  Joe  Jameson. 

"  And  some  cake,"  supplemented  Ned  Thompson, 
who  knew  where  he  could  get  it  at  home. 

All  matters  being  arranged,  on  the  following  morn- 
ing we  set  out  on  our  excursion  down  the  bay.  The 
yawl  had  no  sail,  and  we  could  not  have  managed  it 
if  she  had.  We  felt  equal  to  the  oars,  however,  and 
were  soon  gliding  over  the  smooth  waters  of  the  har- 
bor under  the  steady  pull  of  Ben  Hunter  and  Joe 
Jameson. 


A   VOYAGE  OF   DISCOVERY.  1/3 

There  was  exhilaration  in  the  thought  that  we  were 
fairly  afloat  and  on  our  way  to  regions  new  to  us,  for 
most  of  us  had  never  before  visited  the  islands.  As 
we  receded  from  the  shore  the  city  rose  behind  us 
on  its  elevated  peninsula,  its  church  spires  rising 
above  the  long  lines  of  trees  that  shaded  its  streets, 
while  the  observatory  on  the  hill  at  its  eastern  ex- 
tremity stood  boldly  out,  a  well-known  landmark. 
The  opposite  shore  of  the  cape  sheltered  the  snug 
harbor  from  the  sea,  and  where  it  ended  the  islands 
took  up  the  sheltering  line  of  land  and  continued  it 
far  down  the  bay,  with  the  ship  channel  and  out- 
reaching  "  sounds  "  between  them,  giving  approach 
from  the  broad  ocean  beyond. 

As  we  neared  the  ship  channel,  the  principal 
entrance  to  the  harbor,  the  fort  on  the  cape  came 
into  view,  and  it  was  unanimously  resolved  to  pay  it 
a  visit. 

"We'll  capture  it,  like  the  bold  buccaneers,"  said 
Ben  Hunter,  who  had  been  reading  an  account  of 
Drake's  voyages. 

"  The  fort  sogers  will  have  something  to  say  about 
that,"  replied  Tim. 

As  we  approached  the  wharf  we  saw  a  boy  stand- 
ing on  the  end  of  it,  apparently  watching  our  ad- 
vance. He  was  dressed  in  uniform,  and  stood  very 
straight  and  still. 


174  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Halloa ! "  shouted  Ben  Hunter. 

"  Halloa !  "  replied  the  young  soldier. 

He  was  a  very  sober  ch^p,  and  looked  at  us  in  a 
solemn  sort  of  way/ 

"  Can  we  go  into  the  fort  ? " 

"Yes." 

Under  the  lead  of  our  guide  we  went  into  the  en- 
closure, crossed  the  parade-ground,  where  a  squad  of 
soldiers  were  going  through  the  manual  of  arms,  and 
entering  a  gateway  in  a  brick  wall,  found  ourselves  in 
the  fort.  On  the  top  of  the  sodded  walls  heavy 
guns  were  mounted,  pointing  down  the  ship  chan- 
nel. 

"  Do  you  s'pose  a  man-o'-war  could  get  past  this 
fort  ? "  asked  Ben  Hunter. 

"  No  !  "  replied  our  guide.  "  We  'd  blow  her  out 
of  the  water." 

"Do  you  like  being  a  soger?"  asked  Ned  Thomp- 
son. 

"  Yes,  I  do.     I  never  was  anything  else." 

"Was  you  born  a  soger?"  asked  Ned,  looking  at 
him  with  admiring  eyes. 

"  I  was  born  in  a  fort.  My  father  is  an  officer  in 
the  army  of  the  United  States,"  replied  the  soldier 
boy,  with  great  dignity. 

"  Have  you  always  lived  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !     I  've  lived  in  a  good  many  forts.     A 


A    VOYAGE    OF    DISCOVERY.  175 

soldier  never  knows  to-day  where  he  may  be  ordered 
to-morrow." 

"  Well,"  said  Ned.     "  I  'd  rather  have  a  home." 

"  I  Ve  had  a  good  many  homes,"  was  the  reply. 

Looking  across  the  ship  channel,  we  saw  an- 
other fort  on  an  island,  which  also  commanded  the 
channel,  and  the  passage  out  by  'White  Head,  a 
bold  promontory  at  the  eastern  end  of  Bangs's  Island. 

"  That  is  Fort  Scammell,"  said  our  guide.  "  My 
father  says  it  is  named  for  Gen.  Scammell  of  the 
Revolutionary  army. 

"  What 's  that  odd-looking  building  in  it  ? "  asked 
Joe  Jameson. 

"  That 's  a  block-house." 

"  What 's  it  there  for  ? " 

"To  defend  the  harbor  from  the  enemy's  ships." 

"  Are  there  any  guns  in  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"I  thought,"  said  Ben  Hunter,  "that  block-houses 
were  only  used  in  old  times  for  defence  against  the 
Indians." 

"  Let 's  go  and  look  at  the  old  settler,"  said  Joe  ; 
and  with  a  word  of  good-by  to  our  stately  young 
guide,  we  were  soon  on  our  way  across  the  channel. 

The  old  sergeant  in  charge  of  the  fort  admitted  us, 
and  we  examined  the  block-house  with  much  interest. 
It  was  built  of  pine  and  oak  timbers,  about  fourteen 


1/6  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

inches  square,  laid  upon  one  another,  and  each  one 
well  pinned  and  dowelled  to  the  one  below.  The 
building  was  octagon  in  form,  two  stories  high,  the 
upper  story  projecting  over  the  lower.  In  the  upper 
story,  on  four  of  the  sides,  were  embrasures  for  four 
cannon.  In  the  floor  of  the  projecting  portion  of 
this  story  were  a'  number  of  small  openings. 

"  What  are  these  holes  in  the  floor  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  They  are  for  shooting  down  upon  the  enemy  if 
he  should  land  and  make  an  attempt  to  take  the 
fort,"  replied  the  sergeant. 

"  Yes,  and  to  pour  hot  water  down  on  'em,"  said  Si 
Sumner.  "I've  heard  my  father  tell  about  that. 
The  Indians  used  to  try  to  set  the  block-house  on 
fire,  and  when  they  came  near  the  walls  they  'd  scald 
'em." 

"  That  was  a  long  time  ago,"  said  the  sergeant. 

In  the  centre  of  the  lower  story  was  a  magazine 
built  of  bricks,  and  in  the  walls  were  loop-holes  for 
musketry.  The  block-house  stood  in  an  enclosure, 
one  side  of  which  was  guarded  by  a  stone-wall  with 
fixtures  for  mounting  six  cannon,  while  on  the  other 
side  was  a  stockade  formed  of  cedar  posts  about 
eight  feet  high. 

"This  isn't  much  of  a  fort,"  said  Ben.  Yet  it  is  a 
fact  that  in  those  days  our  military  authorities  con- 
sidered it  capable  of  combating  anything  that  might 


A    VOYAGE    OF    DISCOVERY.  1 77 

be  brought  against  it.  Steel-clad  ships  had  not  then 
been  thought  of. 

Returning  to  our  boat,  we  pulled  down  Hog  Island 
Roads,  a  beautiful  passage  between  <-wo  islands,  the 
one  presenting  a  high  green  bank,  the  other  a  per- 
pendicular wall  of  rock  crowned  with  a  dense  forest 
growth. 

"  Peak's  Island  !  "  cried  Jim  Norton,  "and  there's 
Stirling's  cottage." 

We  both  waved  our  caps,  and  a  young  girl  stand- 
ing in  the  door,  whom  we  felt  must  be  Susie, 
responded  with  her  handkerchief.  Jim  and  I  wanted 
to  go  ashore,  but  Ben  was  bound  for  Diamond  Cove, 
on  the  opposite  island  and  we  were  obliged  to  yield 
to  his  plans. 

"  We  have  n't  time  to  land  there  now,"  said  he ; 
"we'll  go  there  another  time." 

"Did  you  come  all  this  way  on  the  ice?  "asked 
Ned  Thompson,  looking  back  toward  the  distant  city. 
It  did  seem  incredible  that  we  had  passed  over  that 
vast  watery  space  on  foot. 

The  day  had  grown  very  warm.  The  sun  beat 
down  fiercely,  and  we  all,  more  especially  those  of 
us  who  had  labored  at  the  oars,  began  to  suffer  from 
thirst. 

"Why  did  n't  you  bring  a  jug  of  water  ? "  said  Jim, 
who  had  been  invited  to  join  us  at  the  last  moment. 

12 


178  THE    BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  We  did  n't  think  of  it,"  replied  Ben,  "  besides, 
when  ships  start  on  voyages  of  discovery  they 
always  get  short  of  water  and  provisions." 

Our  thirst  impelled  us  to  renewed  exertions  at  the 
oars,  and  after  a  long  pull  we  rounded  Bounty 
Head,  at  the  eastern  end  of  Hog  Island,  and  soon 
made  the  entrance  of  Diamond  Cove.  This  was  a 
deep  indentation  in  the  shore  of  Hog  Island,  present- 
ing a  beautiful  and  secluded  retreat,  often  visited 
by.  picnic  parties  from  the  city..  Off  against  its 
entrance,  sheltering  it  from  the  waves  of  the  bay, 
lay  a  small,  low  island  known  as  Cow  Island.  The 
two  projecting  arms  of  Hog  Island  enclosing  the 
cove  presented  high  rocky  walls,  surmounted  with  a 
tangle  of  trees  and  underbrush,  while  at  the  head  of 
the  cove  a  low  grassy  bank  sloped  down  to  the 
water's  edge  from  the  woods  in  the  rear. 

Entering  the  cove,  we  felt  ourselves  secluded  in  a 
little  world  of  our  own,  and  leaping  on  the  beach 
took  possession  as  if  it  were  a  newly  discovered  land. 
Our  first  thought  was  of  water.  After  a  long  search 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  discover  a  little  trickling 
stream  at  the  foot  of  the  wall  of  rock  that  enclosed 
the  cove  on  the  north,  and  digging  in  the  sand 
brought  to  light  a  spring,  which  soon  filled  the  cavity 
I  had  made. 

After  refreshing  ourselves  with  draughts  from  this 


A   VOYAGE   OF    DISCOVERY.  179 

fountain,  it  was  resolved  to  proceed  to  the  fishing 
ground  near  the  shore  of  Cow  Island.  Here  we  had 
not  long  dropped  our  lines  before  I  felt  a  nibble  and 
drew  in  a  lively  mackerel.  Tim  Bunce  pulled  in 
another,  and  soon  the  sport  grew  fast  and  furious. 
We  had  struck  a  school  of  mackerel  and  for  half  an 
hour  had  rare  sport  in  pulling  them  in. 

By  this  time  we  began  to  think  of  supper,  and  re- 
turning to  the  cove  took  possession  of  one  of  the 
fireplaces  built  of  stones  which  former  visitors  had 
left  there.  While,  some  of  us  gathered  fallen  branches 
in  the  woods,  Tim  undertook  to  split  and  clean  the 
mackerel.  A  fire  was  built,  the  frying-pan  produced, 
and  then  Tim  cried  out,  —  * 

"  Where  's  the  pork  ? " 

"  Pork  !  "  said  Ben  Hunter;  "you  don't  want  pork 
to  cook  mackerel:" 

A  hot  dispute  ensued  between  Ben  and  Tim  as  to 
the  proper  way  of  cooking  a  mackerel,  Tim  insisting 
that  his  mother  always  fried  them  in  pork  fat,  while 
Ben  said  they  should  be  broiled.  It  ended  in  Tim's 
slapping  a  mackerel  into  the  pan  and  placing  it  over 
the  fire.  The  fire  blazed,  the  mackerel  sizzled,  and 
we  stood  around  in  eager  anticipation  of  the  feast, 
for  by  this  time  we  had  grown  ravenously  hungry. 
But  when  the  pan  was  taken  from  the  fire  the  mack- 
erel objected  to  leaving  it,  sticking  fast  to  the  bot- 


l8O  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

torn,  and  when  fragments  were  torn  off  they  were 
found  to  be  not  particularly  palatable.  Ned  Thomp. 
son  spit  out  a  morsel  in  disgust. 

"  Now,"  said  Ben, "  let  me  broil  one,  and  you  '11  see 
the  difference." 

He  thereupon  proceeded,  in  lack  of  a  gridiron,  to 
lay  some  sticks  across  the  fire,  on  which  he  placed  a 
mackerel.  The  sticks  caught  fire  and  broke  and  the 
mackerel  fell  upon  the  coals. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Ben,  "  it  '11  brown  all  the  better. 
A  mackerel  ought  always  to  be  well  browned." 

But  the  fire  smoked,  and  the  mackerel,  when  drawn 
from  it  by  the  tail,  was  not  only  browned  but  black- 
ened to  a  degree  that  obscured  its  identity.  Tim 
said  it  looked  like  a  dirty  dish-rag,  a  remark  highly 
resented  by  Ben.  It  so  disgusted  Ned  Thompson 
that  he  refused  to  touch  a  morsel  of  it.  Ben,  how- 
ever, fell  to  and  declared  that  all  it  wanted  was  a 
little  salt,  which  Tim  proposed  he  should  supply  by 
dipping  it  in  -the  salt  water  at  our  feet. 

We  did  n't  greatly  relish  the  feast,  but  managed  to 
make  a  supper  on  biscuit  and  water,  —  real  sailor  fare, 
as  Tim  said. 

In  the  long  June  day  there  were  still  some  hours 
of  daylight,  and  Ben  proposed  that  before  going 
home  we  should  land  on  Cow  Island  and  explore  the 
old  barn  which  stood  upon  it,  with  wide-open  doors. 


A   VOYAGE  OF    DISCOVERY.  l8l 

We  found  the  barn  empty,  save  for  a  little  hay 
scattered  over  the  floor,  and  soon  wandered  away 
from  it  to  the  farther  end  of  the  island,  where  we 
amused  ourselves  for  some  time  in  picking  up  shells 
on  the  shore.  Presently  Ned  Thompson  cried,  — 

"What's  that?" 

Looking  in  the  direction  in  which  he  eagerly  pointed 
we  saw  a  round  black  head  rising  above  the  water. 
Soon  another  broke  water  near  the  first,  and  we 
could  see  that  the  creatures  had  large  round  eyes. 

"  They  're  mermaids  ! "  said  Ned  Thompson,  in  an 
awe-struck  tone. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Ben,  "  where  are  their  look- 
ing-glasses ? " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  they  are,"  said  Joe  Jameson. 
"  They  are  seals.  I  've  heard  my  father  tell  about 
'em.  They  breed  on  one  of  the  little  rocky  islands 
in  the  bay."  By  this  time  they  had  disappeared 
beneath  the  water,  and  we  watched  in  vain  for  their 
reappearance. 

"Come,"  said  Ben,  "it's  time  we  started  if  we  are 
going  to  get  home  before  dark." 

But  on  reaching  the  shore  we  found  the  boat  high 
and  dry  on  the  flats.  The  tide  had  gone  out  during 
our  absence,  leaving  a  long  expanse  of  mud  over 
which  the  boat  must  be  dragged  to  reach  water.  In 
the  endeavor  to  get  her  off  we  sank  in  the  soft,  black 


1 82  THE   BOYS   OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

mud  nearly  up  to  our  knees,  and  found  all  our  efforts 
vain.  Coming  out  of  the  mud  at  last,  in  despair, 
with  our  trousers  rolled  up  to  our  knees,  we  pre- 
sented the  appearance  of  a  party  of  black  legs. 

"When  will  the  tide  rise  again  ?"  asked  Jim  Nor- 
ton. 

"  Not  till  morning,  I  s'pose,"  replied  Ben. 

"  Then  we  must  stay  here  all  night  !  " 

This  was  a  startling  announcement. 

"Why,"  said  Ned  Thompson,  "to-morrow's  Sun- 
day!" 

What  would  our  parents  say  to  our  prolonged 
absence  and  our  return  on  the  Sabbath  day  ?  The 
thought  gave  us  renewed  energy,  and  we  took 
another  tug  at  the  boat.  She  obstinately  refused  to 
move. 

"Well,"  said  Ben,  "  we  can  sleep  in  the  barn." 

This  was  a  happy  thought.  It  quite  reconciled 
some  of  us  to  the  prospect  of  remaining  all  night  on 
the  island.  Sleeping  in  a  barn  was  the  very  essence 
of  romance  and  adventure.  Had  it  not  always  been 
our  ambition  to  do  so  on*the  night  before  the  Fourth 
of  July,  and  had  not  our  request  always  been  ruth" 
lessly  denied  ?  Here  was  the  chance  thrust  upon  us. 
Were  we  to  be  blamed  because  the  tide  went  out  and 
left  us  ?  » 

Away   we   hurried  to  the    barn  and  immediately 


A    VOYAGE    OF    DISCOVERY.  183 

began  heaping  up  the  hay  on  the  floor  to  make  a 
bed.  This  done  to  our  satisfaction,  we  sat  down  in 
the  wide  doorway  and  gazed  upon  the  scene  before 
us.  The  waters  of  the  cove  were  as  smooth  as  a 
mirror,  reflecting  in  their  depths  its  precipitous  cliffs 
and  the  trees  on  their  summits.  The  shades  of 
evening,  seeming  to  drop  down  from  the  tree-tops, 
began  slowly  to  enclose  the  quiet  scene.  There  was 
not  a  ripple  on  the  water,  not  a  sound  in  the  air,  no 
living  thing  stirring. 

"How  lonesome  it  is!"  said  Ned  Thompson. 

A  homesick  feeling  was  beginning  to  take  posses- 
sion of  us,  when  we  were  startled  by  the  sound  of 
voices,  and  presently  a  boat  rounded  the  northeastern 
end  of  Hog  Island  and  entered  the  passage  between 
Cow  Island  and  Diamond  Cove.  There  were  two 
young  men  in  it,  and  landing  in  the  cove,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  take  various  articles  from  the  boat.  Then, 
while  one  built  a  fire  on  the  rocks,  the  other  busied 
himself  in  suspending  two  hammocks  between  trees. 

"They  are  going  to  camp  out,"  said  Ben. 

"Then  we  sha'n't  be  all  alone  here,"  remarked 
Ned  Thompson,  in  a  tone  of  relief. 

We  watched  the  dusky  forms  of  the  men  as  they 
moved  about  in  front  of  their  cheerful  fire,  busily  en- 
gaged in  preparing  their  evening  meal.  Presently 
they  sat  down  to  it,  and  as  we  saw  them  drinking 


184  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

their  coffee  and  eating  the  food  they  had  cooked,  we 
began  to  have  a  hollow  realization  that  our  supper 
had  been  but  a  slight  and  unsatisfactory  repast. 

"  I  'm  awful  hungry,"  said  Si  Sumner. 

"Is  n't  there  some  of  those  biscuits  left  ?"  inquired 
Joe. 

"  Not  a  crumb,  But  what 's  become  of  that  cake 
you  were  going  to  bring,  Ned  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Ned,  with  a  sudden  start  of  recollec- 
tion, "  I  forgot  all  about  it.  I  left  it  in  the  boat." 

It  was  soon  produced  and  scrupulously  divided 
among  us,  but  Si  had  taken  but  a  mouthful  when  he 
said,  with  a  dubious  air,  — 

"  Seems  to  me  it  tastes  kind  o'  fishy.  Where  did 
you  find  it,  Tim  ?  " 

"  In  the  frying-pan  in  which  we  cooked  the  mack- 
erel." 

"  Pah  ! "  said  Ned,  in  a  tone  of  disgust,  "  I  can't  eat 
it." 

"Why,"  replied  Tim,  as  he  stowed  away  a  huge 
slice  of  it,  "  it 's  a  good  deal  better  than  '  old  horse,' 
such  as  Bill  Truman  had  to  eat." 

"  Well,"  said  Ben,  "  plum-cake  flavored  with  mack- 
erel is  not  to  my  taste." 

However,  most  of  us  managed  to  dispose  of  our 
share  of  the  cake,  and  felt  all  the  better  for  it. 

The  moon  had  now  risen,  silvering  the  calm  sur- 


A    VOYAGE   OF    DISCOVERY.  185 

face  of  the  cove,  and  lighting  up  the  leafy  avenues  at 
its  head.  We  sat  long  contemplating  the  beauty  of 
the  scene,  and  conversing  in  low  tones,  as  if  we  feared 
to  disturb  the  repose  of  nature.  It  was  a  novel  and 
awe-inspiring  sensation  to  be  alone  on  this  uninhab- 
ited island  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night. 

Presently  we  saw  the  two  men  on  the  opposite 
island  rise  from  before  their  smouldering  fire  and  be- 
take themselves  to  their  hammocks. 

"  Tell  you  what,  boys,"  said  Ben,  "  we  '11  come  down 
here  and  camp  out  in  vacation." 

"  Agreed  !  "  cried  we  all. 

"We  can  hire  a  sail-boat  of  Johnny  Leatherbee, 
and  perhaps  Bill  Truman  will  come  and  manage  it 
for  us." 

This  was  a  happy  thought,  and  under  its  inspiring 
influence  we  betook  ourselves  to  our  couch  of  hay  on 
the  barn  floor.  The  hay  was  not  abundant,  and 
somehow  the  floor  beneath  it  made  its  presence  felt. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  pillow,"  said  Ned  Thompson. 

"  Put  your  arm  under  your  head,"  said  Joe,  "and 
sleep  on  it.  For  my  part  I  want  a  coverlid." 

"Then,"  replied  Ben,  "you  must  pull  down  the 
roof  of  the  barn." 

That  was  indeed  all  between  us  and  the  sky,  but 
fortunately  the  night  was  warm.  Tired  with  the 
day's  exertions,  we  soon  fell  asleep.  Some  time  in  the 


1 86  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

night  I  was  awakened  by  Ned  Thompson,  who  whis- 
pered, — 

"  Harry,  there  's  somebody  in  the  barn." 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  I,  but  half  awake,  and  scarcely 
conscious  of  my  whereabouts. 

"  I  heard  them,"  replied  Ned. 

We  lay  still  and  listened.  Presently  I  heard  a 
rustling  sound.  Joe  had  evidently  heard  it,  too,  for 
he  sat  up  and  stared  around.  Soon  the  noise  was  re- 
peated, and  somehow  I  felt  a  strange  sort  of  sinking 
in  the  region  of  my  heart. 

"  Who  's  there  ? "  asked  Joe. 

"  Tu-whit,  tu-whoo,"  was  the  reply,  as  a  dark  ob- 
ject flitted  out  of  the  door  into  the  night. 

"  It 's  an  owl,"  said  Joe,  as  he  lay  down  again. 

Next  morning  we  found  our  boat  afloat,  and  made 
hasty  preparations  for  departure,  as  we  very  much 
felt  the  need  of  getting  a  breakfast  somewhere. 

"  We  can  row  over  to  Mackey's  Island,  and  get 
some  bread  and  milk  at  the  farm-house,"  said  Joe. 

This  was  agreed  upon,  and  we  were  soon  pulling 
across  to  Mackey's  Island,  which  lay  some  distance 
inside  of  Hog  Island.  It  was  a  dull,  misty  morning, 
and  as  we  rowed  away  from  Hog  Island  a  fog  bank 
came  rolling  in  from  the  sea.  The  fog  seemed  to 
catch  on  the  tree-tops  and  roll  down  from  them  in 
heavy  masses,  spreading  itself  over  the  surface  of  the 
water.  Presently  we  were  enveloped  in  it. 


A    VOYAGE    OF   DISCOVERY.  l8/ 

"  Keep  a  good  lookout  for'ard,"  said  Ben,  who  was 
rowing,  "or  else  we'll  miss  the  island." 

After  pulling  a  long  time  we  held  up  and  peered 
about  us.  Mackey's  Island  had  disappeared  in  the 
fog.  We  listened,  but  heard  no  sound.  After  row- 
ing on  again  for  some  time,  with  no  signs  of  land, 
we  again  paused  and  listened. 

"  What  was  that  ? "  said  Ben.  We  had  heard 
nothing,  but  presently  a  low,  hollow  sound  struck 
upon  our  ears. 

"  It 's  a  cow  bellowing,"  said  Ben  ;  "row  for  it." 

Guided  by  the  lowing  of  the  cow,  which  in  our  case 
supplied  the  place  of  the  modern  fog-horn,  we  soon 
struck  the  shore  and  found  our  way  to  the  farm-house. 
A  jolly-looking  old  man,  half  farmer,  half  fisherman, 
met  us  at  the  door. 

"Good  mornin',  boys,"  said  he,  "ye  're  out  airly." 

"  We  would  like  to  get  some  bread  and  milk,"  said 
Ben. 

"  Wall,  walk  right  in.    My  daughter  '11  tend  ter  ye." 

Bowls  of  milk  with  plenty  of  brown  bread  were 
soon  supplied,  and  we  fell  to  with  ravenous  appe- 
tites. 

"  Kinder  got  lost  in  the  fog,  did  n't  ye  ?  "  remarked 
the  old  man. 

Ben  replied  that  we  had  some  difficulty  in  finding 
the  island. 


1 88  THE   BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Wall,"  continued  our  host,  "  fog  is  the  beater- 
most  thing.  Ye  never  can  find  yer  bearings  in  it. 
Did  ye  ever  hear  tell  how  old  Sim  Hooker,  that  lived 
on  Peaks'  Island,  got  lost  in  it  ?  No  ?  Wall,  I  '11  tell 
ye  how  'twas.  It  was  the  curiousest  thing  ye  ever 
heard  on.  Sim  was  n't  over  and  above  bright,  and 
his  oT  woman  wus  allus  a  jawing  on  him.  Says  she, 
'Sim,'  says  she,  'you'll  never  set  the  river  afire.' 
'  Lor-a-massy,'  says  Sim,  '  I  don't  wanter ;  what  ud 
become  of  us  if  all  the  water  was  burned  up  ? '  '  No 
danger  on 't,  no  danger  on  't,'  says  his  wife. 

"  Wall,  one  day  Sim  wanted  to  go  over  to  Bangs's 
Island  to  see  ol'  man  Skillings  about  some  lobster- 
pots  he  'd  agreed  to  make  for  him.  So  he  told  the 
boys  they  might  row  him  over  and  come  back  arter 
him  in  the  arternoon.  It  was  kinder  foggy  when 
they  started,  and  putty  soon  the  fog  rolled  in  so 
thick  over  White  Head  ye  might  'a'  cut  it  with  a 
knife.  But  the  boys  they  knowed  the  bearings  well 
enough,  and  arter  rowing  awhile  they  struck  the 
island  and  landed  the  ol'  man.  He  started  for  Skil- 
lings's  house,  but  putty  soon  found  hisself  in  a  swamp 
that  he  never  knowed  was  there  afore.  He  thought 
it  was  kinder  cur'us,  but  kep'  flounderin'  along  till 
he  got  a'most  up  to  his  knees  in  mud  and  water. 

"  He  could  n't  hardly  see  his  hand  afore  his  face, 
but  he  knowed  Skillings's  house  could  n't  be  fur  off. 


A    VOYAGE   OF   DISCOVERY.  189 

Bimeby  he  see  a  house  looming  up  afore  him,  and  he 
opened  the  door  and  went  in.  Arter  he  shut  the 
door  he  thought  things  looked  kinder  nat'ral,  and  the 
fust  thing  he  knowed  there  stood  his  ol'  woman  right 
afore  him." 

"  '  How  'd  ye  git  here  ? '  says  he. 

" '  That 's  a  putty  question  to  ask,'  says  she. 
'  Have  you  lost  your  senses  ? ' 

" '  Where  on  airth  be  I  ? '  says  he. 

" '  Why,  ye  ol'  fool,'  says  she,  '  ye  're  in  your  own 
house,  to  be  sure  ! ' 

"  '  How  'd  I  git  here  ? '  says  Sim,  kinder  dazed 
like. 

" '  The  Lord  only  knows,  an'  he  won't  tell,'  says  the 
ol'  woman,  '  but  as  fur  as  I  can  see  ye  got  here  on 
your  own  legs.' 

"'But  the  boys  jest  landed  me  on  Bangs's  Island.' 
.  "  '  Then  ye  must  'a'  waded  across  White  Head  pas- 
sige,  an'  I  should  think  ye  did  by  the  looks  o'  your 
trousers ! ' 

"  Sim  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  tried  to  get  the 
thing  through  his  hair.  At  last  he  says,  says  he,  — 

" '  Sally,  them  boys  must  'a'  landed  me  on  the  back 
side  o'  the  island  stid  of  on  Bangs's  Island. 

"  '  Course  they  did,'  says  she,  '  any  fool  might  'a' 
knowed  that.  But  where  on  airth  's  them  boys  ? ' 

" '  Sure  enough  ! '  says  Sim,  kinder  starting  up. 


1 9O  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  '  Who  knows  but  they  are  rowing  straight  out  to 
sea,  an*  you  a  setting  here,  bothering  about  how  you 
got  home.  Go  'long  down  to  the  landin',  do,  says 
she,  '  and  git  Jim  Jackson  to  fire  his  gun,  so  't  them 
boys '11  know  where  they  be.' 

"  So  Sim  he  went  down  to  the  landin',  and  Jim  got 
out  his  gun  and  was  jest  a  going  ter  fire  it  off,  when 
they  heard  the  sound  o'  oars,  and  putty  soon  the 
boys  rowed  up  to  the  wharf. 

"  '  Where  ye  ben  ? '  says  Sim. 

"  '  Over  to  Bangs's  Island,'  says  they.  It  'peared 
that  arter  they  landed  the  ol'  man  they  rowed  away 
for  home,  as  they  thought,  and  putty  soon  they  struck 
the  shore,  but  could  n't  tell  jest  where  they'd  hit  it. 
They  see  a  man  on  shore,  and  they  says  to  him, 
*  Where  be  we  ?  *  '  Ye  're  at  Bangs's  Island,'  says 
he.  And  sure  enough  it  was  ol'  man  Skillings 
hisself.  '  Where  's  father  ? '  says  they.  '  I  hain't  seed 
nothin'  on  him,'  says  Skillings.  By  that  the  boys  was 
scart,  and  they  pulled  away  for  home  for  dear  life. 

"  OF  Sim  he  never  could  quite  understand  how 
ft  was  that  when  he  started  for  Bangs's  Island  he  got 
back  to  Peaks'  without  knowin'  it,  nor  how 't  was  the 
boys  who  started  for  home  arter  they  left  him  found 
theirselves  at  Bangs's  Island  afore  they  knowed  it,  but 
ye  see  it  was  all  owing  to  the  fog.  It's  the  beater- 
most  thing  in  all  nater." 


A    VOYAGE    OF    DISCOVERY.  19 1 

By  noon  the  fog  had  cleared  away  and  a  strong 
breeze  was  kicking  up  a  lively  sea  in  the  bay.  We 
thought  it  time  to  start  for  home,  but  found  it  hard 
pulling  against  the  tide  and  a  heavy  sea.  Once  or 
twice  the  waves  dashed  into  the  boat  and  gave  us  a 
drenching.  Still  we  tugged  at  the  oars  by  turns,  but 
made  little  headway.  Some  of  us  began  to  grow  a 
little  disheartened.  Presently  a  wave  larger  than 
common  poured  a  flood  of  water  into  the  boat,  and 
we  were  obliged  to  set  Tim  and  Ned  at  baling. 
Matters  began  to  look  a  little  serious  with  us. 

"Boys,"  said  Ben,  "we'll  never  get  round  Fish 
Point.  We  'd  better  land  back  o'  the  Neck,  and 
anchor  the  boat  there  until  to-morrow  morning." 

This  was  agreed  upon,  and  by  keeping  under  the 
lee  of  the  hill  we  were  enabled  to  make  better  pro- 
gress, and  soon  struck  shoal  water.  The  difficulty 
now  was  to  secure  the  boat  so  that  she  would  not  go 
adrift  during  the  night.  The  kellick  was  thrown  out 
and  loaded  with  stones,  and  everything  on  board 
made  as  snug  as  possible.  Then  we  tucked  up  our 
trousers  and  waded  ashore,  Tim  carrying  his  frying- 
pan  for  fear  it  would  be  stolen  if  left  on  board. 

"  Are  you  going  to  carry  that  through  the  streets 
on  a  Sunday  ?  "  asked  Ned  Thompson. 

This  was  a  reminder  of  the  day  that  struck  us  all 
rather  unpleasantly.  We  had  landed  at  the  extreme 


I Q2  THE   BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

end  of  the  town,  and  most  of  us  must  pass  through 
more  than  half  its  length  to  reach  our  homes.  How- 
ever, by  taking  the  back  streets  we  got  home  without 
any  unpleasant  observations  being  made  upon  us. 
Next  morning  Ben  Hunter  and  Jim  Norton  found  the 
boat  all  right,  and  took  her  around  to  the  brig  in  the 
harbor. 


IN   CAMP.  193 


CHAPTER   XIIL 

IN   CAMP. 

IN  July  we  had  two  weeks  vacation.  We  did  not 
forget  our  determination  to  spend  it  in  camp  at  Dia- 
mond Cove.  In  fact,  some  of  us  had  been  preparing 
for  it  ever  since  our  trip  down  the  bay.  Joe  Jame- 
son, whose  uncle  was  in  the  Blues,  had  procured  for 
us  the  loan  of  a  tent.  We  had  saved  up  our  pocket- 
money  to  purchase  stores. 

"  We  must  have  plenty  of  biscuit,"  said  Ben. 

"And  some  pork,"  added  Tim,  remembering  his 
experience  in  frying  mackerel. 

"  And  don't  forget  potatoes  ;  they  are  jolly  good 
roasted  in  the  ashes,"  said  Si  Sumner. 

Supplies  laid  in,  the  next  thing  was  to  hire  a  sail- 
boat. Bill  Truman  had  promised  to  go  along  and 
manage  it  for  us,  although  by  this  time  Ben  Hunter 
considered  himself  competent  to  take  the  helm. 

"Give  me  your  names,  boys,"  said  Johnny  Leather- 
bee,  when  we  appeared  before  him  to  engage  the 
boat.  "  If  you  are  all  drowned  I  shall  have  to  report 
ye." 


194  TIIE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

This  was  a  damper  on  our  high  spirits.  We 
had  n't  thought  of  drowning.  But  then  we  remem- 
bered that  boats  had  been  capsized  by  sudden  squalls 
in  Diamond  Cove,  and  that  a  number  of  lives  had 
been  lost  in  that  way. 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  our  drowning,  Johnny," 
said  Bill  Truman.  "  I  'm  going  skipper  of  this  craft." 

"  Well,"  replied  Johnny,  "  I  s'pose  them  that 's 
born  to  be  hanged  will  never  be  drowned.  You  're 
safe  enough." 

With  this  comforting  assurance  we  proceeded 
down  the  wharf,  each  one  carrying  his  share  of 
the  stores.  On  the  way  we  met  several  officers  from 
the  fort,  in  full  uniform.  They  were  fine,  stately 
looking  men,  and  walking  very  sedately  with  them 
was  the  young  soldier  boy  who  had  been  our  guide 
at  the  fort.  Several  of  us  made  signs  of  recog- 
nition, but  he  gave  us  a  look  which  plainly  indicated 
that  he  could  not  acknowledge  our  acquaintance  in 
such  a  presence.  I  never  met  him  again,  but  I  have 
sometimes  thought  of  him  as  in  high  command  in 
the  army.  He  evidently  had -the  making  of  a  soldier 
in  him. 

Before  a  stiff  breeze  our  boat  was  soon  dancing 
over  the  waves,  and  the  spirit  of  adventure  took  full 
possession  .of  us.  Ben  proposed  that  we  should  pen- 
etrate the  unknown  region  of  the  lower  bay,  even  as 


IN   CAMP.  195 

far  as  Harpswell,  but  Bill  Truman  said  we  should 
have  to  beat  back  and  might  not  get  to  the  cove 
until  late  in  the  day.  We  therefore  contented  our- 
selves with  making  a  stop  at  Peaks'  Island  and  call- 
ing on  Mrs.  Stirling.  The  old  lady  stood  in  the 
doorway  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"  Sakes  alive,  boys,  is  't  you  ? "  said  she.  "  How 
you  hev  growed.  I  should  n't  'a'  knowed  ye.  Come 
right  in,  all  on  ye,  and  take  some  cheers." 

Jim  Norton  introduced  our  companions,  and  men- 
tioned our  purpose  of  camping  at  Diamond  Cove. 

"  So  ye  're  going  to  camp  out,  be  ye  ?  Wall,  ye  '11 
find  it  rough  living,  but  I  s'pose  ye '11  like  it  for  a 
spell,  if  ye  can  git  enough  to  eat,"  she  added  cjubi- 
ously.  "  But  if  ye  get  short  o'  vittles  come  right 
over  here  an'  I  '11  supply  ye." 

At  this  moment  Susie  entered,  looking  fresh  and 
rosy.  She  said  she  thought  it  would  be  fun  camping 
out  in  the  cove,  and  when  I  politely  invited  her  to 
visit  us  she  promised  to  do  so. 

On  arriving  in  the  cove  we  found  no  one  there, 
and  rejoiced  in  having  it  all  to  ourselves.  With  much 
bustle  and  excitement  we  landed  our  stores  and  pro- 
ceeded to  pitch  the  tent  on  a  dry  knoll,  taking  care 
to  fasten  the  stays  strongly  to  pegs  driven  firmly  into 
the  ground. 

"We  must  dig  a  channel  around  the  tent,"   said 


196  THE    BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

Joe  Jameson,  who  had  camped  out  with  his  uncle  on 
one  occasion,  "to  carry  off  the  water  when  it  rains.'' 

"  And  we  must  make  a  bed  of  fir  boughs,"  said 
B 

We  set  about  gathering  the  boughs,  and  Jim  Nor- 
ton undertook  to  spread  them  on  the  ground  inside 
the  tent. 

"  That  won't  do,"  said  Joe,  critically  examining  his 
work,  "you  must  use  only  the  small  twigs,  and  lay 
the  stems  all  one  way,  or  else  you  '11  feel  as  if  you 
were  lying  on  a  gridiron." 

The  boughs  were  rearranged  smoothly,  and  with 
the  old  coverlid  Tim  Bunce  had  brought  along,  they 
made  a  very  comfortable  bed 

Meanwhile  Bill  Truman  was  busy  anchoring  the 
boat  off  in  the  cove,  coming  ashore  in  the  small  row- 
boat  we  had  brought  in  tow. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  Ben  Hunter,  "  we  must  divide 
the  work,  and  there  must  be  no  shirks  here.  Harry, 
you  must  be  tent-keeper,  and  see  that  everything  is 
kept  snug  inside ;  Jim,  you  must  be  water-carrier ; 
Si,  you  must  be  fireman  ;  Joe,  you  must  be  potato- 
slicer  and  dish-washer  ;  Tim  and  I  will  be  cooks,  and 
Bill  will  look  after  the  boat  and  go  a  fishing." 

There  was  some  grumbling  at  this  autocratic  dis- 
tribution of  the  work.  Joe  declared  he  would  n't  be 
dish-washer,  and  Jim  grumbled  at  having  to  lug 


IN  CAMP. 

water  from  the  spring.  Si  said  he  was  a  dabster  at 
washing  dishes,  and  offered  to  swap  places  with  Joe, 
which  arrangement  was  satisfactorily  made. 

Everything  being  set  in  order,  we  took  a  stroll  in 
the  leafy  alleys  behind  our  tent.  The  wood  here 
was  a  thick  growth,  tangled  with  underbrush  and 
fallen  tree-trunks,  but  the  paths  running  through 
them  were  delightfully  embowered  and  bordered  with 
ferns  and  running  vines.  There  was  a  mixed  growth 
of  evergreen  and  deciduous  trees,  and  among  the  lat- 
ter were  numerous  sturdy,  wide-spreading  beeches. 
The  smooth  trunks  of  these  were  cut  deep  with  the 
initials  of  former  visitors,  some  of  them  bearing  date 
of  many  years  previous.  In  these  cases  the  letters 
were  spread  wide  with  the  growth  of  the  bark,  and 
in  a  few  instances  were  almost  obliterated. 

These  beeches  were  large  in  circumference,  the 
gnarled  and  twisted  branches  growing  low  and 
spreading  out  almost  at  right  angles  with  the  stem. 
They  made  leafy  coverts,  under  which  we  lingered 
long,  reading  the  names  cut  on  their  stems,  some- 
times spelled  out  at  length,  sometimes  merely  initials, 
and  occasionally  those  of  youth  and  maiden,  lovingly 
coupled  with  a  brace. 

"Do  you  s'pose  these  people  are  all  dead?"  asked 
Ned,  to  whom  the  inscriptions  seemed  to  "have  a  sort 
of  graveyard  aspect. 


198  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"I  know  one  of  'em  is  n't,"  replied  Ben,  "but  he  's 
gone  to  the  East  Indies,  and  he 's  never  coming 
back.  He  came  down  here  the  day  before  he  sailed, 
and  cut  his  name  there,"  pointing  to  some  deeply  cut 
letters  on  the  tree  under  which  he  stood.  "  He  said 
he  wanted  to  leave  his  name  somewhere  in  his  native 
city,  and  he  had  rather  leave  it  here,  where  he  had 
enjoyed  so  many  good  times  picnicking  and  camp- 
ing out."  We  looked  with  much  interest  at  the  let- 
ters, "J.  S.,  1830." 

Returning  to  camp,  we  set  about  preparing  our 
evening  meal.  Jim  trudged  off  to  the  spring  for 
water  ;  Joe  had  providentally  brought  an  armful  of 
dry  sticks  from  the  woods,  and  soon  had  a  cheerful 
blaze  in  the  stone  fireplace.  Ben  placed  a  pot  of 
coffee  on  the  fire,  while  Si  put  some  potatoes  to  roast 
beneath  it,  and  Tim  got  out  the  biscuit  and  butter. 

What  a  jolly  feast-  it  was  when  all  was  ready.  Do 
you  recall  the  -time,  O  widely  scattered  Landsport 
boys  !  when  you  sat  around  the  fire  on  the  grassy  bank 
of  Diamond  or  Pleasant  Cove,  and  ate  your  chowder 
or  fried  fish,  and  have  you  ever,  in  all  your  wander- 
ings, tasted  food  so  delicious,  or  with  so  keen  an 
appetite  ? 

We  sat  long  about  the  smudge  made  to  drive  off 
the  mosquitoes,  discussing  plans  for  the  coming  days. 
We  were  to  go  out  fishing,  perhaps  take  a  cruise 


IN    CAMP.  199 

down  the  bay,  go  berrying  on  the  island,  and  dig 
clams  on  the  bar  connecting  Great  Hog  with  Little 
Hog  Island. 

Si  Sumner  had  made  a  separate  couch  for  himself 
in  a  corner  of  the  tent.  The  night  was  warm,  and  on 
retiring  early,  Si  thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to 
entirely  disrobe  himself.  Presently  he  leaped  from 
his  couch  with  loud  exclamations  of  impatience  and 
distress. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  we  all  exclaimed. 

"The  mosquitoes  are  devouring  me." 

"  Put  on  your  shirt,"  said  Ben. 

This  was  a  happy  thought,  immediately  acted  upon 
by  Si,  but  the  mosquitoes  were  not  to  be  so  easily  baf- 
fled. Those  of  Diamond  Cove  were  a  famous  race. 
They  were  large,  ferocious,  and  their  name  was  legion. 
They  had  put  to  flight  more  than  one  party  of  camp- 
ers. We  soon  heard  Si  thrashing  his  arms  about  his 
head,  where  the  enemy  were  loudly  buzzing. 

"  Pull  up  your  coverlid,"  said  Joe,  sitting  comforta- 
bly in  the  smoke  of  the  smudge. 

"  It 's  too  short.  When  I  pull  it  up,  my  feet  stick 
out,  and  then  they  go  for  them." 

"  Put  on  your  boots,"  suggested  Bill. 

"  So  I  will,"  said  Si ;  "I  never  thought  of  that." 

Defeated  at  one  extremity,  the  mosquitoes  renewed 
the  attack  at  the  other,  and  made  an  onslaught  about 


2OO  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

his  head.  Si  was  now  forced  to  put  on  his  cap,  and 
was  finally  compelled  to  protect  his  body  by  donning 
his  overcoat.  Thus  defended,  he  lay  down  to  his  re- 
pose, and  after  that  nighi  never  retired  without  first 
putting  on  his  overcoat  and  pulling  it  well  up  in  the 
neck. 

At  last  we  all  stretched  ourselves  on  the  boughs 
in  the  tent  and  pulled  the  coverlid  over  us.  We 
were  tired  and  soon  fell  asleep.  Some  time  in  the 
night  I  was  awakened  by  a  strange  noise  that  sounded 
like  a  screech  close  at  my  ear.  I  listened,  and  pres- 
ently the  sound  was  repeated.  This  time  it  seemed 
like  the  scream  of  a  wild  animal. 

"  What 's  that  ? "  whispered  Si  Sumner,  who  lay 
next  me. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  I,  "  perhaps  it 's  the  wind." 
It  had  risen  in  the  night. 

By  this  time  the  whole  tent  was  awake,  and  all 
were  listening  for  the  strange  noise,  which  came 
again,  a  most  uncanny  screech. 

"It's  something  right  back  of  the  tent,"  said 
Joe. 

"  I  '11  soon  see  what  it  is,"  said  Tim,  who  was  not 
easily  frightened.  He  crawled  out  of  the  tent,  and, 
as  he  did  so,  the  strange,  unearthly  sound  came  again, 
making  all  our  hearts  quake.  Nothing  daunted,  Tim 
went  back  of  the  tent,  and  soon  returned  laughing. 


IN   CAMP.  2OI 

"I  've  found  the  ghost,"  said  he,  " it 's  nothing  but 
the  branch  of  a  bush  that  the  wind  scrapes  against 
the  tent.  I  broke  it  off,  and  the  ghost  is  laid." 

When  we  awoke  next  morning  the  sun  was  high 
in  the  heavens.  How  delicious  was  the  morning  air 
as  we  emerged  from  the  tent  and  performed  our  ablu- 
tions at  the  spring ! 

It  was  decided  to  have  a  chowder  for  dinner  that 
day,  and  Bill  Truman  and  Tim  Bunce  went  out  to 
catch  the  fish,  while  those  who  remained  engaged  in 
a  game  of  quoits.  When  the  fishermen  returned 
with  a  fine  cod  and  a  few  mackerel,  Ben  Hunter, 
who  prided  himself  on  his  knowledge  of  cookery, 
set  about  preparing  the  chowder. 

When  dinner  was  announced  each  one  appeared 
with  his  bowl  and  improvised  spoon,  made  of  a  clam- 
shell with  a  split  stick  for  a  handle.  The  chowder 
did  n't  taste  like  that  Mrs.  Stirling  set  before  Jim 
and  me  the  morning  after  we  came  off  the*  ice. 
After  swallowing  a  spoonful  Tim  Bunce  remarked, — 

"  This  is  an  awful  flat  chowder." 

"  I  Ve  found  a  scrap  of  pork  in  mine,"  said  Ned 
Thompson,  who  hated  pork. 

"  Did  you  put  the  pork  scraps  in  the  chowder?" 
asked  Tim. 

"To  be  sure  I  did,"  replied  Ben.  "What  else 
should  I  do  with  them  ? " 


2O2  THE   BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  And  what  did  you  do  with  the  pork  fat  ?  " 

"  Threw  it  away,  of  course." 

"  That 's  the  kind  of  a  cook  you  are,"  replied  Tim, 
in  great  disgust.  "  Don't  you  know  you  ought  to 
have  thrown  the  scraps  away  and  put  the  fat  into  the 
chowder  ?  That's  what  makes  it  rich  and  good." 

A  hot  dispute  ensued  between  Ben  and  Tim,  while 
the  rest  of  us  gave  our  attention  to  the  chowder, 
which  was  made  palatable  by  hunger.  Camping  out 
had  given  us  all  a  ravenous  appetite.  The  remain- 
der of  the  chowder  was  set  aside  for  breakfast. 
When  we  attacked  it  next  morning  it  was  of  the  con- 
sistency of  hasty  pudding.  Ben  had  been  stirring  it 
over  the  fire  with  a  stick,  and  as  the  pot  had  stood 
over  night  under  a  pine-tree,  the  spills  that  had  fallen 
into  it  had  been  well  mixed  in. 

"  It  looks  like  mortar,"  said  Ned,  in  a  tone  of  dis- 
gust, refusing  to  eat  it. 
« 

It   was  unanimously  voted  that  the  chowder  was 

not  a  success,  though  Ben  still  contended  that  he 
was  right  about  the  pork. 

Some  time  after  breakfast  a  boat  was  seen  ap- 
proaching the  cove.  Mr.  Stirling  was  rowing,  while 
Miss  Susie  sat  in  the  stern. 

"  Hurry,  boys,"  said  I,  "  and  clean  up  the  camp. 
Visitors  are  coming." 

Jim    Norton   especially   bestirred   himself   to   put 


IN    CAMP.  2O3 

everything  in  order,  and  took  care  to  be  at  the  shcre 
to  assist  Susie  in  landing. 

"  Boys,"  said  Mr.  Stirling,  "  I  've  brought  ye  some 
fish.  I  thought  p'r'aps  ye  'd  like  to  make  a  chowder." 

Tim  Bunce  made  one  of  his  sly  grimaces,  which  set 
us  all  laughing. 

"We  have  tried  to  make  a  chowder,"  said  Joe, 
"but  did  not  succeed  very  well." 

"I  don't  s'pose  ye  did,"  replied  the  old  man. 
"Boys  ginerally  don't  know  much  about  cooking. 
But  here 's  Susie,  she  '11  make  a  chowder  for  ye  fit 
for  the  king." 

Susie  laughed  heartily  when  told  about  Ben's 
throwing  away  the  pork  fat,  and  Ned  comparing 
the  chowder  to  mortar.  She  expressed  her  willing- 
ness to  instruct  us  in  the  art  of  chowder-making, 
and  we  all  set  about  assisting  her  with  a  will. 

Under  her  directions  water  was  put  to  boil  in  a 
tin  dipper  over  a  side  fire.  Then  some  slices  of 
pork  were  put  into  the  frying-pan,  Susie  telling  us 
to  be  careful  that  they  were  not  burned,  as  that 
would  give  the  chowder  a  dark  color  and  disagree, 
able  flavor. 

Si,  as  potato-slicer,  was  set  at  peeling  and  slicing 
the  potatoes  and  onions.  From  among  the  fish  he 
had  brought  Mr.  Stirling  selected  a  fine,  fresh  had- 
dock, remarking  that  its  flesh  was  firmer  than  that 


2O4  THE   BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

of  the  cod,  and  that  it  made  a  better  chowder.  It 
must  not  be  sliced,  Susie  added,  but  cut  into  large 
pieces. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  hot  pork  fat  was  poured 
into  the  kettle  first  of  all,  care  being  taken,  this 
time,  not  to  put  in  the  scraps,  much  to  the  content- 
ment of  Tim  and  the  chagrin  of  Ben.  Then  a  layer 
of  sliced  potatoes  was  put  in  and  on  this  a  layer  of 
sliced  onions,  with  hard  bread  crumbled  in,  and  the 
whole  seasoned  with  pepper  and  salt.  Next  a  por- 
tion of  the  fish  was  added  and  on  this  other  layers 
of  potatoes  and  onions  with  more  pepper  and  salt. 
Then  more  fish,  taking  care  that  it  was  not  broken 
up.  Next  the  boiling  water  was  poured  in,  and  the 
whole  set  to  boil  until  the  potatoes  were  done,  Susie 
testing  them  with  a  fork. 

Meantime  a  can  of  milk,  which  Mr.  Stirling  had 
providently  provided,  had  been  set  on  the  fire  and 
its  contents  were  now  poured  into  the  kettle.  Last 
of  all,  a  piece  of  butter  was  added,  and  the  chowder 
was  done.  It  was  a  delicious  dish,  and  Susie  was 
given  a  unanimous  vote  of  thanks  for  her  instruction 
in  the  preparation  of  it. 

As  we  sat  around  the  cloth  spread  upon  the 
ground,  which  served  as  a  table,  Ben  asked  Mr. 
Stirling  how  far  it  was  to  Jewell's  Island,  as  we  had 
some  intention  of  visiting  it. 


IN    CAMP. 


2O5 


"  It 's  on'y  about  six  miles  from  here,"  replied  the 
old  man,  "but,  boys,  don't  ye  be  too  ventersome. 
Thet  's  partly  what  I  kim  over  for,  to  warn  ye.  I  've 
never  felt  skeersly  right  about  boys  camping  out 
here  alone  sense  them  three  boys  was  lost,  nigh  on 
ten  years  ago." 

"  Tell  us  about  it,"  said  Ben,  while  the  rest  of  us 
drew  near  to  listen. 

"Wall,  ye  see,  it  was  a  terrible  onlucky  thing. 
My  ol'  woman  never  could  git  over  it.  Says  she  to 
me,  on'y  yisterday,  says  she,  '  Do  go  over  an'  tell 
them  boys  not  to  go  cruising  down  the  bay.'  A.i* 
thet  's  partly  why  I  kim  over.  Ye  see  three  likely 
boys  kim  down  here  one  summer  and  was  camping 
out,  jest  as  you  be  now.  They  used  ter  come  over 
to  the  house  arter  milk  and  things,  an'  my  wife  she 
took  quite  a  shine  to  'em. 

"  Well,  they  used  to  go  cruising  round  in  their  boat, 
an'  I  never  thought  no  harm  on  't,  though  I  might  'a' 
knowed  they  could  n't  manage  the  boat  in  a  stiff 
breeze.  One  day  I  was  out  fishing,  an'  I  see  towards 
night  it  was  a  comin'  in  thick,  so  I  pulled  up  kellick 
and  stood  away  fer  home.  Afore  long  it  begun  to  rain 
and  blow,  an*  kim  on  pretty  rough.  By  the  time  I 
got  into  Hussey's  Sound  it  was  as  dark  and  dirty  as 
ever  I  see  it.  Jest  then  I  see  a  boat  driving  past ; 
and  somebody  aboard  sung  out  something,  but  the 


2O6  THE    BOYS   OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

wind  was  a  screeching  so  I  could  n't  hear  what  he 
said,  and  in  a  half  a  minute  the  boat  was  out  ev  sight. 
I  hed  es  much  es  I  would  do  to  tend  to  my  own  boat, 
and  did  n't  think  no  more  of  it,  'specially  as  I  thought 
the  boat  belonged  to  some  of  the  Long-Islanders, 
who  was  making  for  home,  es  I  was. 

"  Wall,  two  days  afterwards  a  man  kim  to  my 
house  an'  asked  if  I  'd  seen  anything  o'  them  boys 
that  had  been  camping  out  in  the  cove.  He  said 
they  didn't  come  home  at  the  time  sot,  an'  he'd 
been  over  to  the  cove,  and  found  their  camp  de- 
sarted.  '  What  day  was  it  they  was  comin'  home  ? ' 
says  I.  '  Day  before  yisterday,'  says  he.  Then  it 
come  over  me  like  a  shot  it  was  them  boys  that 
drove  by  me  in  the  storm.  I  could  n't  say  a  word  at 
fust,  but  tol'  the  man  —  he  was  the  father  of  one  of 
'em  —  that  I  guessed  he  would  find  'em  on  Long 
Island.  I  kinder  hoped  they  'd  landed  there.  But 
nothing  more  was  ever  heard  of  'em,  an'  I  s'pose  I 
was  the  last  one  that  seed  'em  alive.  So  now,  boys,  I 
warn  ye  to  be  keerful.  Don't  ye  go  cruising  about, 
'specially  if  it  looks  like  thick  weather  coming  on  " 

We  thanked  the  old  man  for  his  kindly  caution, 
and  promised  to  profit  by  it. 

"For  all  that,"  said  Ben,  after  he  and  Susie  had 
departed,  "  I  guess  we  can  venture  down  to  Jewell's 
Island,  if  we  take  a  fair  day  for  it." 


IN    CAMP.  2O7 

That  night,  as  we  lay  asleep  in  the  tent,  we  were 
awakened  by  a  heavy  clap  of  thunder.  Presently  the 
rain  poured  down  in  torrents,  and  flash  after  flash  of 
vivid  lightning  revealed  the  whole  cove,  as  if  by  a 
magical  illumination.  As  I  lay  in  the  tent  I  could 
look  out  of  the  narrow  opening  in  the  flap  and  see 
the  inside  of  the  barn  on  Cow  Island  lighted  up  for 
a  moment,  and  then  hidden  again  in  impenetrable 
darkness.  Fortunately,  our  tent  shed  the  water  well' 
only  a  thin  mist  penetrating  it,  and  the  channel  we 
had  dug  around  it  carried  off  the  torrent  that  fell 
from  it. 

"Harry,"  said  Si  to  me,  in  a  whisper,  " where 's 
that  flask  of  powder  Ben  brought  down  ?  If  the 
lightning  should  strike  the  tent  it  might  blow  us  all 

up." 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  I ;  whereupon  Si  seized  it  and 
threw  it  as  far  out  of  the  tent  as  he  could. 

The  shower  soon  passed  over,  and  next  morning 
Ben  was  making  great  inquiry  for  his  powder-flask. 
He  had  brought  down  a  gun  with  the  avowed  pur- 
pose of  supplying  the  camp  with  game,  but  as  yet 
had  shot  nothing  except  an  owl,  which  Tim  said 
would  make  a  dish  equal  to  Ben's  chowder.  The 
fla.^k  was  found,  but  though  Ben  diligently  tramped 
through  the  woods,  gun  in  hand,  he  made  no  contri- 
bution to  our  larder. 


2O8  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

In  fact,  our  supplies  began  to  fail,  and  famine 
stared  us  in  the  face.  The  hardships  of  camp  life 
began  to  bring  out  traits  of  character  not  before  sus- 
pected. Jim  proved  to  be  lazy,  and  neglected  to 
keep  the  camp  supplied  with  water ;  Joe  shirked  his 
duty  as  fireman,  and  Si  grumbled  at  having  to  wash 
dishes  in  cold  water.  Somehow  he  could  n't  get  the 
grease  off.  Ben  and  Tim  proved  the  truth  of  the 
old  proverb  that  "  Too  many  cooks  spoil  the  broth," 
since  they  were  continually  quarrelling  about  the 
proper  way  of  cooking  our  food,  and  between  them 
spoiled  everthing  they  undertook.  Bill  proved  to 
be  a  good  provider  in  the  way  of  catching  fish,  and 
but  for  him  we  might  have  starved.  Ned  was  home- 
sick. As  the  shades  of  evening  drew  on,  and  we 
sat  at  the  tent  door  in  the  solitary  cove,  he  would 
say,  "To-morrow  morning,  boys,  I'm  going  home." 
With  the  morning  sun,  and  the  arrival  of  picnicking 
parties,  his  courage  revived,  and  he  would  postpone 
his  departure  until  the  next  day.  As  for  myself,  I 
found  it  more  agreeable  to  row  about  the  cove  in  the 
small  boat  than  to  keep  the  camp  in  order. 

One  day,  when  our  supplies  had  run  very  low,  and 
it  had  become  a  serious  question  whether  we  should 
be  able  to  provide  anything  for  dinner,  I  saw  a  boy 
approaching  the  camp  through  one  of  the  shady 
paths  leading  to  the  other  end  of  the  island,  where 


IN    CAMP. 


2O9 


there  was  a  farm-house.  He  had  come  to  say  that 
his  father  desired  our  help  in  getting  in  his  hay,  as 
he  feared  a  shower  was  approaching.  The  farmer 
had  probably  a  suspicion  that  food  was  not  very  abun- 
dant with  us,  as  he  offered  as  a  consideration  to  give 
us  a  good  dinner  at  the  farm-house. 

"  Good  for  you,"  said  Tim  Bunce,  in  answer  to  the 
proposition.  "  I  'm  the  boy  for  getting  in  hay." 

We  all  eagerly  accepted  the  offer  in  anticipation  of 
food  and  fun,  and  hurried  away  through  the  woods  to 
the  hay-field,  a  mile  distant.  There  was  much  fun  in 
raking  the  hay  and  treading  it  in  the  hay-rack,  and 
when  the  last  load  drove  into  the  barn,  just  as  the 
rain  began  to  fall,  we  were  all  ready  for  dinner. 

It  was  a  hearty  meal  that  the  farmer's  wife  set 
before  us,  and  we  did  it  full  justice.  Corned  beef  and 
cabbage  and  Indian  pudding  had  become  luxuries, 
and  it  was  a  novelty  to  be  sitting  at  a  table  and  eat- 
ing from  clean  dishes.  The  farmer's  wife  hospitably 
urged  us  to  partake  of  everything  on  the  table. 

"  Now  take  right  hold,  boys,  and  help  yourselves," 
said  she.  "  I  know  this  camping  out  makes  boys 
hungry." 

We  had  found  that  out  long  before,  and  were  not 
slow  in  accepting  her  invitation,  Tim  declaring  in 
an  aside  that  he  was  going  to  eat  enough  to  last  a 
week. 

14 


2IO  THE    BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

It  continued  to  rain  through  the  afternoon,  and  at 
ni  ht  we  found  it  necessary  to  close  the  tent  and 
make  everything  snug.  About  the  witching  hour  of 
midnight  some  of  us  were  awakened  by  a  heavy 
tramping,  and  presently  some  object  was  hurled 
against  the  tent  with  such  vigorous  and  repeated 
blows  as  to  break  its  fastenings  and  throw  it  down 
upon  us.  We  were  all  buried  beneath  it,  and  some 
of  us  who  were  scarcely  awake  had  difficulty  in  dis- 
entangling ourselves.  Joe  backed  out  heels  fore- 
most, as  we  all  shouted,  — 

"Who  did  it?" 

Nobody  knew,  but  Bill  said  that  when  he  emerged 
from  the  tent  he  saw  a  white  object  dashing  away 
through  the  woods. 

"Do  you  s'pose  it  was  a  ghost?"  whispered  Ned. 

"  Nonsence,"  replied  Ben,  "I'll  tell  you  what  it 
was,  —  the  farmer's  old  white  horse." 

And  so  it  proved  to  be.  The  horse  had  been 
turned  loose,  and  wandering  through  the  woods  had 
caught  sight  of  our  tent.  So  strange  an  object  had 
excited  his  fears  or  animosity,  and  turning  tail  he 
had  given  it  a  succession  of  vigorous  kicks,  with  the 
result  above  described. 

'It  was  still  raining  and  it  was  very  dark.  We 
could  not  see  to  replace  the  tent  and  must  seek 
other  shelter.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  a  long 


IN    CAMP.  211 

tramp  through  the  woods  and  fields  to  the  farm-house. 
On  the  way  Si  and  Ned  wandered  out  of  the  path 
and  fell  into  the  swamp.  Their  cries  drew  us  all 
back,  but  in  the  darkness  we  wandered  in  different 
directions  and  only  by  much  shouting  were  enabled 
to  come  together  again. 

Having  fished  poor  Ned  out  of  the  swamp,  we  set 
out  again,  but  soon  found  ourselves  on  the  shore, 
and  it  was  only  after  much  wandering  about  that  we 
at  last  reached  the  farm-house.  Here  it  required 
much  thumping  and  shouting  to  awaken  the  family. 
When  at  last  admitted,  thoroughly  drenched,  we 
gave  a  doleful  account  of  our  disaster. 

"  Ye  must  put  up  the  bars,  boys,"  said  the  farmer- 
"  Old  Whitey  never  see  a  tent  before  and  he  was 
bound  to  know  what  was  in  it." 

"  He'll  find  out  if  he  comes  prowling  about  again," 
said  Tim. 

The  farmer's  wife  stowed  us  away  in  spare  beds 
and  improvised  couches  on  the  floor,  where  we  slept 
soundly  until  morning. 

Some  days  after  our  midnight  adventure,  our  sup- 
ply of  biscuit  having  been  exhausted,  it  became  ne- 
cessary to  send  up  to  town  for  more.  All  were  eager 
to  go,  and  it  was  at  last  determined  that  only  the 
camp-keeper  should  remain.  As  I  held  that  respon- 
sible office  I  was  lef\  alone  in  the  cove. 


212  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

It  was  understood  that  the  supply  party  would  re- 
main in  town  over  night.  I  therefore  prepared  for 
a  lonely  vigil  and  made  all  snug  about  the  camp. 
Feeling  rather  lonesome  as  the  afternoon  wore  away, 
I  thought  to  amuse  myself  by  rowing  off  to  Crow 
Island  in  the  small  boat.  Crow  Island  was  a  little 
nubble  rising  high  out  of  the  water  not  far  from  the 
entrance  to  the  cove. 

After  rambling  over  it  for  some  time  I  went  down 
on  to  a  bit  of  sandy  beach  in  a  little  cove  and  observed 
near  low-water  mark  a  number  of  small  objects  thrust 
up  out  of  the  sand.  These  were  razor  shells,  long, 
narrow  shell-fish,  which  sink  vertically  into  the  sand, 
foot  downward.  As  I  approached  them  the  vibration 
of  the  sand  under  my  feet  gave  them  the  alarm  and 
they  sank  out  of  sight  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
Retreating  to  .the  shore,  I  was  amused  to  observe 
them,  after  a  short  time,  slowly  obtruding  themselves 
again,  as  if  cautiously  looking  around  for  the  enemy. 
Advancing  softly  this  time,  I  was  enabled  to  seize 
two  of  them  and  pull  them  out  of  the  sand.  With 
a  bit  of  board  found  on  the  beach  I  dug  up  a  number 
of  them.  They  were  about  six  inches  long,  but  some 
of  their  burrows  were  two  feet  deep. 

After  amusing  myself  some  time  in  this  way,  and 
the  shades  of  evening  beginning  to  fall,  I  bethought 
me  of  returning  to  the  cove.  Passing  over  the  nub- 


IN    CAMP.  213 

ble  to  the  point  where  I  had  left  the  boat,  I  was 
startled  to  find  no  boat  there.  I  had  passed  the 
painter  around  a  bowlder  on  the  shore,  and  the  move- 
ment of  the  boat  in  rising  and  falling  with  the  waves 
had  worked  it  loose.  Looking  over  the  water,  I  saw 
the  boat  dancing  away  towards  Cow  Island.  As  it 
rose  and  fell  it  seemed  to  be  nodding  me  good-by. 

Here  was  a  situation !  It  was  bad  enough  to  be 
left  alone  in  the  camp,  but  to  spend  the  night  with- 
out shelter  on  Cow  Island  was  more  than  I  had  bar- 
gained for.  Various  expedients  suggested  them- 
selves to  me,  but  none  were  practicable.  It  was  too 
far  for  me  to  swim  ;  there  was  nothing  on  the  island 
of  which  to  construct  a  raft,  and  no  sail  was  in  sight 
to  come  to  my  rescue.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  prepare  for  a  night  in  the  open  air. 

On  the  summit  of  the  nubble  there  was  a  little 
grassy  hollow.  In  this  I  placed  some  sea-weed  which 
had  been  thrown  up  on  the  beach  and  dried  in  the 
sun,  and  thus  made  a  sort  of  nest  in  which  I  hoped 
to  shelter  myself. 

This  done,  I  felt  the  need  of  something  to  eat.  I 
had  brought  no  luncheon  with  me,  'but  had  a  few 
matches  in  my  pocket.  With  these  I  kindled  a  fire 
of  driftwood,  and  when  it  had  burned  down  I  placed 
the  razor-shells  on  the  hot  stones.  I  had  never  eaten 
these  shell-fish,  but  had  heard  of  others  doing  so. 


214  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

The  shells  gaped  open  under  the  influence  of  the 
heat,  and  when  I  thought  they  were  done  to  a  turn  I 
attempted  to  swallow  one.  It  was  a  feat  not  easily 
accomplished  with  only  the  aid  of  my  ringers  in  tear- 
ing it  from  the  shell,  but  it  went  down  at  last,  and 
proved  not  altogether  unpalatable.  I  ate  several  of 
them,  and  then  bethought  me  of  the  mussels  on  the 
shore,  a  quantity  of  which  I  gathered  and  served  in 
the  same  way. 

By  this  time  the  starlit  evening  was  far  advanced. 
I  sought  my  nest,  but  found  it  did  not  invite  to  slum- 
ber. I  lay  long  awake,  gazing  into  the  starry  heav- 
ens, and  listening  to  the  lap,  lap  of  the  waves  on 
the  shore.  The  night  was  calm  and  the  sea  was 
smooth.  No  sail  was  in  sight,  yet  I  fancied  boats 
were  approaching.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  oars  in  the 
rowlocks,  and  the  low  voices  of  men  conversing. 
Then  I  started  up  and  listened,  but  all  was  still.  I 
tried  to  compose  myself  to  sleep  again,  but  the  night 
air  coming  in  from  the  sea  was  chilly,  and  my  slum- 
ber was  broken  and  disturbed  by  troublous  dreams. 

I  got  up  and  walked  about  for  a  time  in  the  en- 
deavor to  keep  warm ;  then  lay  down  again  and 
dozed.  Presently  I  became  aware  of  some  presence 
about  me.  It  seemed  to  be  approaching,  and  in  a 
moment  more  it  pounced  down  upon  me,  like  some 
great  bird  of  prey  about  to  bear  me  away.  When  I 


IN    CAMP.  215 

was  fully  awakened  and  recovered  from  my  fright  I 
became  aware  that  it  was  one  of  the  sheep  pastured 
on  the  island,  which  in  wandering  about  had  stum- 
bled over  me.  . 

I  lay  down  again,  and  when  I  awoke  the  day  was 
breaking.  I  wandered  down  by  the  shore  and  built  a 
fire,  and  waited  long  for  my  companions.  Sail  after 
sail  appeared  in  sight,  went  past,  and  left  me  disap- 
pointed. I  was  hungry  and  angry.  They  had 
promised  to  return  early  in  the  morning.  Why  did 
they  not  come? 

Late  in  the  forenoon  I  at  last  saw  them  in  the 
distance.  I  knew  it  was  them  because  Tim  Bunce's 
red  head  shone  out  resplendant  in  the  bow.  I  saw 
them  enter  the  cove.  Then  a  revulsion  of  feeling 
cama  over  me.  I  was  in  no  hurry  to  quit  my  solitary 
isle.  I  would  punish  them  for  lingering  on  their  re. 
turn.  They  should  look  in  vain  for  me.  I  enjoyed 
seeing  them  land,  hurry  up  to  the  tent,  look  around, 
and  call  for  "Harry."  No  Harry  appeared.  At 
length  they  seemed  to  be  alarmed.  Several  went 
into  the  woods  to  look  for  me,  while  others  skirted 
the  shore.  They  ran  to  and  fro  and  called  aloud. 
At  last  one  of  them  spied  the  small  boat  drifting 
away  from  Cow  Island,  where  it  had  gone  ashore  in 
the  night.  Now  they  thought  I  must  be  drowned, 
and  there  were  loud  shouts  of  alarm  and  great  haste 


2l6  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

in  embarking  in  pursuit  of  the  drifting  boat.  Then 
I  stood  up  and  shouted,  and  there  was  great  wonder 
at  my  sudden  appearance  on  the  solitary  nubble. 

When  we  all  sat  around  the  bountiful  breakfast 
provided  by  Tim,  there  was  great  inquiry  concern- 
ing my  adventure  and  much  laughter  at  my  fright 
by  the  sheep. 

"  Did  you  think  it  was  a  bear  ?  "  asked  Ned. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  kill  the  sheep,  and  have  roast 
mutton  for  breakfast  ? "  inquired  Ben. 

"  Any  way,  we  know  where  we  can  get  some  fresh 
meat  now,  when  we  want  it,"  remarked  Si. 

"  There  is  n't  one  of  you  that  has  pluck  enough  to 
kill  a  sheep,"  said  Bill. 

"  We  '11  appoint  you  butcher,  you  are  so  brave," 
retorted  Si. 

"  No  need  of  a  butcher,  boys,  with  all  this  grub 
on  hand,"  remarked  Ben.  "  See,  Harry,  what  your 
grandmother  sent  you  down." 

There  were  a  roasted  chicken  and  great  stores  of 
bread,  cake,  and  oranges.  We  feasted  royally  that 
day. 

That  afternoon  it  was  proposed  to  go  over  to  Cow 
Island,  where  there  was  a  cleared  field,  and  play  a 
game  of  ball.  We  were  to  go  over  in  the  small  row- 
boat,  and  Joe  suggested  that  if  we  all  stood  up  the 
boat  would  take  us  all  at  one  trip.  Being  tent- 


IN    CAMP.  217 

keeper,  and  having  to  make  things  snug  before  leav- 
ing, I  was  the  last  to  enter  the  boat.  As  I  did  so  I 
saw  that  the  pressure  of  so  many  feet  in  the  small 
boat  had  started  the  bottom  and  the  water  was  pour- 
ing in.  I  immediately  sprang  ashore,  exclaiming,  — 

"Look  out,  boys,  she's  going  down." 

The  impetus  given  to  the  boat  by  my  leap  sent 
her  off  from  the  shore,  and  immediately  she  filled 
and  sank,  immersing  her  occupants  up  to  their 
necks.  There  was  a  great  scrambling  on  shore,  the 
boys  coming  up  dripping,  and  in  great  wrath  and 
indignation  at  my  having  pushed  off  the  boat.  Tim 
proposed  to  flog  me  on  the  spot,  but  Ben  shouted, — 

"  Now  you  hustle  round  and  get  some  wood  for  a 
fire." 

I  accordingly  made  myself  busy  in  gathering  fire- 
wood, and  soon  had  a  lively  blaze  around  which  my 
companions  stood  and  turned  themselves  about,  like 
so  many  geese  roasting  before  the  fire.  At  short 
intervals  the  order  was  given  for  more  firewood,  in  a 
tone  that  implied  that  the  gathering  of  it  was  the 
least  I  could  do  to  atone  for  giving  them  a  ducking. 
As  they  dried  off,  however,  their  wrath  evaporated 
with  the  water  from  their  clothing,  and  when  we  had 
eaten  our  supper  Tim  was  ready  to  treat  the  catas- 
trophe as  a  good  joke.  Ben  said  they  were  all  in  a 
pretty  pickle,  whereupon  Tim  remarked,  — 


2l8  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  Yes,  and  I  never  liked  souse." 

The  next  day  proving  fair,  with  a  favorable  breeze, 
it  was  resolved  to  put  in  execution  our  long-contem- 
plated plan  of  a  cruise  to  Jewell's  Island.  This  was 
one  of  the  outer  islands  of  the  bay,  about  which  there 
were  many  tales  told  of  treasures  hidden  there  by 
the  pirates  in  the  times  gone  by.  It  was  said  that 
Capt.  Kidd  had  secreted  there  a  portion  of  the  ill- 
gotten  gains  he  scattered  so  far  and  wide  about  the 
world.  Many  had  dug  there  for  treasure,  but  though 
there  were  mysterious  whisperings  about  what  had 
been  found,  no  one  had  positive  knowledge  of  suc- 
cess in  the  search. 

"  Suppose  we  were  lucky  enough  to  find  the  treas- 
ure," said  Si,  "  what  would  we  do  with  it  ? " 

"  We  'd  build  a  ship  and  go  cruising  around  the 
world,"  replied  Jim,  who  had  always  a  hankering  for 
the  sea. 

"  No,"  said  Joe,  "  we  'd  set  up  a  stage-coach  line, 
and  all  turn  drivers."  Joe  was  much  in  his  father's 
stable  and  had  an  ambition  to  handle  the  ribbons. 

"I  would  travel  in  foreign  lands,"  said  Ben. 

"And  I,"  added  Ned,  "would  build  a  big  house 
and  live  at  my  ease." 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  lazy-bones,"  replied  Ben. 

We  were  now  sailing  past  Hope  Island,  which  pre- 
sented a  high  green  shore  sloping  up  to  a  crown  of 


IN    CAMP.  219 

dense  woods.  The  islands  thickened  at  the  bottom 
of  the  bay  like  plums  in  the  end  of  a  pudding. 
Some  were  low  and  rocky,  others  rose  like  hills  out 
of  the  sea.  Eagle  Island, 'in  the  mouth  of  Broad 
Sound,  stood  high  and  darkly  wooded.  Outside  of 
Hope  Island  lay  Crotch  Island,  and  beyond  that 
Jewell's. 

We  entered  a  deep  cove  made  by  a  point  of  land 
running  out  from  the  shore.  At  the  head  of  it,  on  a 
high,  green  bank,  stood  the  one  house  on  the  island, 
long  occupied  by  a  retired  sea-captain,  who  was 
always  on  hand  to  receive  trespassers  with  a  growl 
No  dogs  could  be  allowed  to  land  because  of  his 
sheep.  No  fires  must  be  built  on  the  island.  But 
if  you  got  on  the  right  side  of  him  he  was  not  un- 
communicative, and  would  relate  the  traditions  of 
the  island  and  the  adventures  of  the  money-diggers. 

On  this  occasion  he  proved  a  good  Samaritan  to 
us.  The  wind  had  freshened  and  suddenly  chopped 
around  as  we  entered  the  cove.  We  dropped  anchor, 
but  it  did  not  hold,  and  presently  we  found  ourselves 
driving  on  to  the  rocky  shore,  where  the  boat  would 
inevitably  beat  to  pieces.  We  were  in  some  alarm, 
when  we  saw  the  captain  and  his  son  putting  off  from 
the  shore  in  a  small  boat  They  came  on  board  with 
a  line,  one  end  of  which  they  made  fast  to  a  small 
schooner  lying  in  the  cove,  and  we  were  thus  enabled 
to  pull  the  boat  into  a  place  of  safety. 


22O  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

Landing  on  the  beach,  we  climbed  the  high  bank, 
in  the  side  of  which  we  saw  a  deep  hole. 

"  Is  that  where  the  treasure  was  found  ?  "  asked 
Ned,  who  was  always  the  first  to  make  inquiries. 

"  That 's  where  they  dug,"  replied  the  old  captain, 
dryly. 

"  How  do  you  s'pose  the  treasure  came  there  ? " 

"  I  Ve  hearn  tell  it  was  hid  by  pirates,"  was  the 
non-committal  reply. 

We  wandered  to  the  outer  end  of  the  island,  where, 
under  the  freshening  gale,  the  sea  was  breaking  high 
on  the  rocky  shore.  The  ocean  lay  broad  off,  and 
the  big  waves  came  tumbling  in  and  leaping  into 
foam  on  the  rocks.  Venturing  out  too  far,  a  larger 
wave  than  usual  broke  completely  over  Ben  and  Joe, 
and  nearly  swept  them  away. 

We  retreated  in  all  haste,  and  as  the  gale  was  evi- 
dently increasing,  we  determined  to  remain  on  the 
island  all  night.  The  captain  said  gruffly  that  he 
guessed  he  could  accommodate  us.  Any  way,  it 
was  n't  safe  for  us  boys  to  attempt  to  go  up  the  bay 
in  that  boat. 

At  the  supper  table  brown  sugar  was  served,  but 
the  captain's  wife  said, — 

"  Perhaps  the  boys  would  like  white  sugar." 
"  What 's  good  enough  for  me  is  good  enough  for 
them  that  eat  at  my  table,"  growled  the  old  sea-dog. 


IN    CAMP.  221 

We  all  hastened  to  say  that  we  did  n't  care  for 
white  sugar. 

After  supper,  as  we  sat  in  the  low-roofed  room, 
while  the  wind  rattled  the  loose  windows,  the  captain 
became  more  genial  and  communicative.  One  of  us 
remarking  on  the  storm,  he  said,  — 

"  This  ain't  nothing  to  what  we  get  here  some- 
times. I  remember  when  a  fishing  schooner  went 
ashore,  and  three  men  were  drowned.  She  put  in 
here  in  the  arternoon,  and  it  was  a  threatening  sky, 
and  I  told  'em  bad  weather  was  ahead,  but  they  said 
they  must  be  off  and  make  for  Monhegan.  Afore 
they  was  under  way  snow  began  to  fall  and  the  wind 
freshened.  I  went  to  bed,  but  woke  up  from  a  bad 
dream.  I  'd  seen  the  schooner  heading  on  the  rocks 
and  heard  the  cries  of  the  crew.  I  could  n't  sleep, 
so  I  dressed  myself  and  took  my  lantern,  and  went  to 
the  outer  shore,  where  I  'd  seen  the  vessel  in  my 
dream. 

"  Sure  enough,  there  she  was.  It  was  a  thick  night, 
but  in  a  lull  of  the  storm  I  could  see  the  schooner 
swinging  on  the  rocks,  and  could  hear  the  shouts  of 
the  poor  fellers  aboard  of  her.  But  I  could  n't  do 
nothing.  No  boat  could  live  in  that  sea.  I  watched 
till  I  see  her  go  to  pieces,  and  in  the  morning  I 
found  three  dead  bodies  washed  ashore,  and  I  buried 
'em  on  the  p'int  where  the  vessel  struck." 


222  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

We  sat  silent  for  a  time  after  this  sad  tale,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  wind  still  rattling  the  windows  and 
howling  around  the  corners  of  the  house.  Presently 
Ned  said,  — 

"  Do  you  believe  the  pirates  ever  landed  here  ? " 

"  Likely  's  not,  likely  's  not,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
know  there  was  pirates  in  them  days,  for  I  've  had  a 
tussle  with  'em  myself." 

Thereupon  the  captain  bared  his  breast,  and 
showed  us  the  scar  of  a  wound  which  he  said  had 
been  inflicted  by  the  knife  of  a  pirate  in  the  days 
when  he  followed  the  sea.  We  looked  upon  him  with 
a  mingled  feeling  of  awe  and  admiration  after  that. 

"  Did  you  ever  find  any  of  the  treasure  the 
pirates  hid  here?"  asked  Joe. 

"  Can't  say  I  ever  did,"  was  the  dry  reply,  "  but 
I've  seen  them  that  said  they  did.  There  was  a  fel- 
ler came  down  here  that  said  he  was  guided  by  sper- 
its,  and  he  dug,  and  he  dug,  and  one  night,  arter 
he  'd  spent  all  his  money,  he  slipped  away,  and  they 
do  say  he  took  with  him  a  bushel  and  a  half  of  old 
Spanish  dollars.  But  I  never  see  any  of  'em.  I 
allus  let  'em  dig,  and  never  refused  to  sell  'em  noth- 
ing that  they  wanted." 

This  was  said  with  a  grim  smile  that  led  me  to 
conclude  that  the  captain  made  more  out  of  the  dig- 
gers than  they  did  out  of  the  hidden  treasure. 


IN    CAMP.  223 

In  the  morning  we  were  shown  a  square  hole  cut 
in  the  rock  by  drill  and  blast,  the  size  of  a  chest, 
where  the  captain  said  he  found  pieces  of  iron  which 
had  lain,  covered  with  rust,  no  one  knew  how  many 
years. 

After  paying  the  captain  for  our  lodging  we  took 
leave  of  him,  and  the  gale  having  blown  itself  out  in 
the  night,  we  had  a  pleasant  passage  back  to  the 
cove. 

Not  intending  to  remain  away  over  night,  we  had 
made  everything  snug  and  closed  the  tent,  but  left 
no  one  in  charge.  On  landing  I  observed  that  the 
camp  had  a  disordered  look.  Various  articles  that  I 
had  put  snugly  away  were  scattered  about.  Tim's 
frying-pan  was  hanging  on  the  branch  of  a  tree.  The 
chowder-kettle  was  turned  over  the  top  of  a  stump. 
Another  stump  was  dressed  up  in  Bill's  old  red  flan- 
nel shirt,  the  arms  extended  wide  by  two  branches 
thrust  through  them,  while  on  top  of  all  was  Ben's 
old  cap.  This  scare-crow  was  labelled  in  a  scrawl- 
ing hand,  — 

"  Camp-keeper,  —  on  guard  !  " 

We  all  rushed  to  the  tent.  Ben  was  the  first  to 
enter,  and  taking  a  look  around,  came  out  again, 
shouting,  — 

"  Thieves  !  thieves  !  " 

An  examination  of  the  premises  made  it  only  too 


224  THE    BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

evident  that  during  our  absence  a  gang  of  maraud^ 
ers-had  made  free  with  our  possessions.  Various 
articles  were  missing  and  everything  was  turned 
topsy-turvy. 

"  The  pirates  have  made  a  descent  upon  us  while 
we  were  visiting  their  old  haunt,"  said  I. 

"And  they've  stolen  my  gun,"  said  Ben. 

"  Lucky  for  us,"  replied  Bill,  who  had  no  great 
faith  in  Ben's  marksmanship. 

"  I  say,  Harry,  they  made  a  capital  likeness  of 
you,"  said  Joe,  pointing  to  the  effigy  of  the  "  Camp- 
keeper." 

On  the  whole  we  rather  enj  oyed  the  adventure  of 
being  robbed.  It  strengthened  our  faith  in  the 
pirates  and  their  treasure.  But  when  Tim,  who  had 
set  about  preparing  dinner,  cried  out,  — 

"  Where  's  the  grub  ? "  and  it  became  evident  after 
long  search  that  the  thieves  had  cleared  the  camp  of 
everything  eatable,  the  raid  did  not  seem  so  amusing. 
We  began  to  pull  very  long  faces. 

"  Have  n't  they  left  anything  ? "  asked  Jim. 

"  Not  a  blessed  crumb  !  " 

"  There  's  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  clam-digging," 
said  Bill. 

"  I  won't  dig  clams,"  replied  Ned. 

"  Well,  I  'm  getting  tired  of  it,  anyway,"  said  Si ; 
"let's  go  home." 


IN    CAMP.  225 

If  the  truth  were  known,  I  suspect  we  were  all 
glad  of  this  suggestion,  though  few  of  us  cared  to  be 
the  first  to  make  it.  We  had  exhausted  the  pleas- 
ures of  camping  out  for  the  time  being,  and  were 
glad  to  return  to  the  comforts  of  home. 

By  the  time  we  were  under  sail  the  afternoon  was 
far  advanced,  and  a  fog-bank  had  come  rolling  in 
from  the  sea.  Bill  was  at  the  helm,  and  we  trusted 
to  his  knowledge  of  the  harbor.  After  beating 
about  for  a  long  time,  the  fog  slightly  lifted  and  we 
beheld  a  white  tower  rising  on  the  rocky  shore  close 
at  hand. 

"  Landsport  Light  !  "  cried  Ben,  "  we  're  going  out 
to  sea.  Put  her  about ! " 

We  were,  indeed,  just  leaving  the  entrance  of  the 
harbor  and  launching  out  into  the  broad  Atlantic. 
The  discovery  was  timely,  and  Bill  lost  no  time  in 
putting  about,  and  we  beat  slowly  up  the  harbor, 
landing  at  Commercial  Wharf  as  the  Second  Parish 
bell  was  ringing  for  9  o'clock  p.  M. 


226  THE    BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

WE  JOURNEY  TO  A  FAR  COUNTRY. 

ONE  bright  morning  in  the  summer  succeeding 
that  of  our  camping  out  at  Diamond  Cove,  I  met 
Jim  Norton  in  front  of  the  Elm  Tavern.  I  had  not 
seen  him  in  a  long  time.  In  fact,  we  boys  had  sel- 
dom met  of  late.  We  had  come  to  the  parting  of 
the  ways.  The  Liberty  Street  Lancers  were  dis- 
banded. Capt.  Ben  had  removed  from  the  town ; 
Bill  Truman  had  sailed  on  a  long  voyage ;  Tim 
Bunce  had  been  put  at  the  carpenter's  trade  ;  Joe 
Jameson  had  been  sent  to  New  Orleans  to  find  there 
the  pursuit  of  his  life  ;  Jim  Norton  lived  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  town  and  I  met  him  but  seldom. 

On  this  fair  summer  morning  we  had  both  been 
attracted  to  the  Elm  Tavern  to  witness  the  depart- 
ure of  the  stage-coaches.  It  was  a  bustling  scene. 
The  coaches  running  on  the  various  lines,  after  pick- 
ing up  their  passengers  about  town,  came  dashing  up 
to  the  tavern  to  take  those  who  were  stopping  there. 
At  times  there  were  half  a  dozen  of  them  at  the 
doors,  each  drawn  by  four  horses.  The  loading  of 


WE  JOURNEY  TO  A  FAR  COUNTRY.       22/ 

the  baggage,  the  seating  of  the  passengers,  the  fare- 
wells of  friends,  the  cracking  of  whips,  and  the  final 
departure  made  a  spectacle  often  witnessed  by  an 
idle  crowd. 

Among  these  well-filled  vehicles  was  John  Smith's 
White  Mountain  stage-coach.  It  had  an  awning 
spread  over  the  top,  under  which  were  seats,  and  was 
thus  known  as  a  "double-decker."  Gay  parties  leav- 
ing for  the  mountains  climbed  eagerly  to  these  upper 
seats. 

With  what  joyousness  they  set  off,  merry  shouts 
and  laughter  floating  back  from  them.  Did  any  one, 
I  wonder,  ever  take  his  seat  in  a  railroad  car,  at  the, 
outset  of  a  pleasure  trip,  with  anything  like  the  ex- 
hilaration of  spirits  he  experienced  on  his  first  ride 
on  a  stage-coach  ?  The  pure,  sweet,  morning  air, 
the  elevation  of  the  seat,  giving  a  commanding  view 
of  the  road  and  the  country  around  ;  the  spirited  ac- 
tion of  the  horses,  the  sense  of  motion,  as  if  one 
were  flying  through  the  air,  —  what  has  the  rail  to 
compensate  for  the  loss  of  these  ? 

"Jim,"  said  I,  "wouldn't  it  be  a  jolly  thing  if  we 
could  go  to  the  White  Mountains  ?  " 

"Perhaps  we  can  go.  I've  just  been  thinking 
how  we  might  do  it.  Vacation  begins  next  week, 
and  my  uncle  is  coming  down  from  Norway  with  his 
own  team  and  is  going  to  leave  it  here  while  he  takes 


228  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

a  trip  to  Boston.  He  will  have  to  board  his  horse 
at  a  livery  stable,  and  I  believe  he  will  be  glad,  rather 
than  be  at  that  expense,  to  let  the  team  to  us  for  a 
small  sum." 

"  Good ! "  said  I,  and  we  parted  with  the  under- 
standing that,  if  possible,  this  plan  for  an  excursion 
should  be  carried  out. 

A  few  days  later,  Jim  came  to  say  that  his  uncle 
had  arrived  and  had  agreed  to  let  us  his  team  for  a 
week  for  the  sum  of  seven  dollars.  The  next  step 
was  to  provide  for  the  other  expenses  of  the  journey. 

"We  can  carry  our  own  grub,"  said  Jim. 

"  Yes,  and  we  can  stop  at  some  roadside  spring 
and  eat  it  under  the  shade  of  the  trees,"  replied  I, 
charmed  with  the  romantic  aspect  of  the  trip.  "And 
the  first  night  we  can  stop  at  my  aunt's  house  in 
Bankville." 

This  town  was  not  on  the  direct  route  to  the 
mountains,  but  could  be  reached  in  a  day's  drive, 
with  but  a  slight  divergence. 

On  the  appointed  morning  we  set  out  in  high  spir- 
its. Our  way  lay  through  the  country  towns,  where 
the  farmers  were  busy  in  the  fields,  and  the  air  was 
filled  with  the  fragrance  of  new-mown  hay.  At 
noon  we  stopped  beside  a  bubbling  spring,  under  a 
wide-spreading  maple,  and  ate  our  dinner  with  great 
relish. 


WE  JOURNEY   TO   A   FAR   COUNTRY. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  drove  into  the  little  vil- 
lage of  Bankville.  There  were  a  tavern  and  several 
shops  on  the  main  street.  In  front  of  these  were 
a  number  of  loiterers,  who  stared  at  us  curiously 
as  we  passed.  They  appeared  to  be  a  jolly  if  not  a 
tipsy  crowd.  Two  men,  one  wearing  a  cobbler's 
apron,  and  the  other  having  the  appearance  of  a 
blacksmith,  were  engaged  in  a  hot  dispute  in  front  of 
one  of  the  shops.  On  the  roof  of  the  shop,  which 
sloped  down  towards  the  rear,  a  young  fellow  was 
clambering,  unseen  by  them,  with  a  bucket  of  water 
in  his  hand.  Creeping  slyly  to  the  front,  he  emptied 
the  water  upon  the  heads  of  the  tipsy  disputants,  and 
then  slid  rapidly  from  the  roof  in  the  rear.  The  sud- 
den douche  cooled  the  ardor  of  the  wranglers,  but 
set  them  to  swearing,  while  a  loud  laugh  went  up 
from  the  idlers  around. 

The  next  object  that  attracted  our  attention,  as  we 
drove  on,  was  a  crockery  crate,  near  one  of  the  shop 
doors,  under  which  lay  a  youth  in  a  drunken  stupor, 
while  a  placard  on  the  crate  indicated  that  he  was  on 
exhibition,  —  "  price  ten  cents  a  peep." 

Bankville  was  evidently  a  hilarious  town.  My 
aunt  resided  in  a  large  white  house  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  village.  We  met  with  a  hearty  welcome, 
and  my  cousin,  a  boy  of  about  my  own  age,  gave  us 
a  graphic  account  of  the  state  of  society  in  the  town. 


23O  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

Spirituous  liquors  were  freely  sold  in  all  the  shops, 
and  the  inhabitants  spent  a  great  part  of  their  time 
in  imbibing  them  and  in  playing  practical  jokes  on 
each  other.  The  hard-drinking  blacksmith  we  had 
seen  drenched  was  the  subject  of  many  of  these 
tipsy  pranks.  The  next  morning  after  our  arrival 
we  were  told  that  during  the  night  a  party  of  roys- 
terers  had  gone  to  his  house,  after  he  had  retired, 
opened  a  window  near  the  head  of  his  bed,  and 
pulled  him  out  of  it,  through  the  window  into  the 
open  air.  This  was  regarded  as  a  great  joke.  ' 

On  our  departure  next  morning  we  stopped  at  one 
of  the  shops  to  make  a  purchase.  The  loafers  were 
already  at  their  posts.  One  of  them,  as  we  were 
about  to  drive  away,  remarked,  — 

"  Tell  your  folks,  when  you  get  home,  that  we  are 
all  well  here  in  Bankville,  with  plenty  to  eat  and 
drink." 

"  Especially  to  drink,"  replied  Jim. 

With  this  parting  shot  we  drove  away  from  Bank- 
ville. To  do  the  place  justice  I  must  say  that  on 
visiting  it  many  years  after,  when  the  Maine  law  had 
been  some  time  in  operation,  I  saw  a  marked  change 
in  the  village.  The  old,  unpainted  houses,  with  hats 
protruding  from  the  broken  windows,  had  been 
painted  and  repaired.  Many  tasteful  dwelling-houses 
had  been  built  on  the  main  street ;  the  shops  were 


WE  JOURNEY  TO  A  FAR  COUNTRY.       23! 

smarter,  but  had  no  crowd  of  drunken  idlers  around 
them.  The  town  had  become  sober,  industrious,  and 
prosperous. 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon  we  struck  the  valley 
of  the  Saco,  in  Conway,  and  the  hills  began  to  close 
around  us.  We  took  our  noontide  meal  in  a  small 
grove  by  the  roadside,  through  which  ran  a  babbling 
brook.  While  seated  here  a  man  came  driving  down 
the  road  in  a  gig,  apparently  in  some  excitement. 
Seeing  us  he  pulled  up  and  said,  — 

"  Boys,  if  you  are  going  up  the  road  you  may  meet 
a  bear.  One  ran  across  the  road  in  front  of  me  a 
few  miles  back  and  he  frightened  my  horse  so  that 
I  have  had  difficulty  in  controlling  him.  I  am  going 
down  to  the  village  to  turn  out  the  hunters." 

The  man  drove  on,  leaving  us  much  excited  by  his 
startling  information.  The  chance  of  seeing  a  bear 
was  not  to  be  lost. 

"  V/hat  a  pity  we  did  n't  bring  a  gun,"  said  Jim. 

We  drove  on  in  all  haste.  Jim  was  disposed  to 
see  a  bear  in  every  dog  on  the  road,  but  bruin  had 
apparently  taken  to  his  native  haunts,  for  we  saw 
nothing  of  him. 

Dark  clouds  had  been  for  some  time  gathering 
overhead,  and  the  muttering  of  distant  thunder,  with 
an  occasional  flash  of  lightning,  gave  warning  of 
an  approaching  shower.  The  sky  momentarily  grew 


232  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

blacker  and  blacker,  and  seemed  to  rest  like  a  pall 
on  the  top  of  the  high  hill  under  which  we  were 
driving.  We  looked  around  fcr  shelter,  and  presently 
came  to  a  farm-house  on  the  slope  of  the  hill.  We 
drove  rapidly  down  the  steep  descent  into  the  farm. 

yard  just  as  the  big  drops  began  to  fall.     The  barn 
/ 

doors  were  wide  open,  and  the  farmer,  standing  in 
his  door,  told  us  to  drive  in. 

On  entering  the  house  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
large,  low-roofed  room.  A  wide  fireplace  occupied 
one  side  of  it.  In  one  corner  stood  a  spinning- 
wheel,  in  the  other  a  chest  of  drawers.  From  the 
rafters  overhead  hung  traces  of  corn  and  a  leg  of 
bacon.  An  elderly  woman  sat  by  the  window  knitting. 

The  rain  was  now  descending  in  torrents,  while 
the  thunder  reverberated  among  the  hills.  We  con- 
gratulated ourselves  on  having  found  so  ready  a 
shelter,  and  remarking  on  the  violence  of  the  storm, 
the  farmer  said,  — 

"  Thunder-storms  are  powerful  heavy  here  in  the 
mountings.  This  ain't  no  tech  to  what  we  hev  some- 
times. The  biggest  storm  that  ever  I  knowed,"  he 
continued,  after  a  pause,  during  which  a  tremendous 
clap  of  thunder  had  shaken  the  house  to  its  founda- 
tion, "was  the  one  that  happened  nigh  on  fifteen 
years  ago,  when  the  mounting  slid  down  up  in  the 
Notch  and  buried  the  Willey  family." 


WE  JOURNEY    TO    A    FAR    COUNTRY.  233 

"Oh,  please  tell  us  about  that,"  said  I. 

"  Wall,  ye  see,  I  'd  been  up  to  Lancaster,  and  kim 
back  down  through  the  Notch  on'y  the  day  afore  it 
happened.  There  'd  ben  a  slide,  about  two  months 
afore  that,  and  it  frightened  Mr.  Willey  so  much  that 
he  thought  o'  leaving,  but  he  kinder  got  over  it,  and 
thought  maybe  it  would  n't  happen  again.  He  was 
living  alone  up  there  in  the  Notch,  keeping  a  kind  of 
a  tavern  for  people  that  went  through.  The  day  I 
drove  down  he  had  just  finished  repairin'  his  barn 
where  the  slide  hit  it.  I  stopped  and  hed  a  little  talk 
with  him  about  it,  and  then  drove  on. 

"  A  storm  hed  been  a  gatherin'  for  a  day  or  two, 
and  next  day  it  kim  on  tremendous,  I  tell  you.  I 
never  seen  no  setch  down-pour  afore  or  sence.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  winders  of  heaven  was  all  wide 
open,  and  the  hills  was  a  tumblin'  about  our  ears.  I 
did  n't  live  near  the  river,  but  them  that  come  from 
the  Intervale  told  me  they  never  see  the  water  so 
high  afore.  It  swept  everything  clean  away. 

"  Next  day  a  neighbor  o'  mine  kim  in,  and  says  he, 
'They  say  the  mounting  has  slid  down  up  in  the 
Notch,  and  buried  up  the  Willey  family.'  'Don't  you 
believe  it,'  says  I.  '  I  was  there  on'y  day  afore  yis- 
terday,  and  they  was  all  right.'  Ye  see  I  thought 
they  was  talkin'  about  the  fust  slide  that  happened 
weeks  afore. 


234  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  But  along  in  the  arternoon  who  should  come  in 
but  Joe  Barker,  a  man  I  used  to  know,  an'  he  said 
he'd  come  down  through  the  Notch,  an'  there 'd 
been  another  great  slide,  an'  the  house  was  there  all 
right,  but  there  was  n't  nobody  in  it,  an'  all  the  men 
round  in  Conway  and  Bartlett  was  agoing  up  to  see 
what  had  come  on  'em. 

"  I  axed  Barker  how  it  looked.  He  said  ye  never 
see  nuthin'  like  it.  He  was  coming  down  through 
the  Notch  afoot,  and  cal'lated  to  stop  overnight  at 
Willey's.  He  got  there  about  sundown,  and  found 
the  haouse  desarted.  The  mounting  had  slid  down 
backo'  the  haouse,  but  had  jest  gone  on  both  sides  of 
it,  and  never  teched  it.  There  it  stood  all  right,  but 
everything  else  was  buried  up. 

"  Barker,  he  went  into  the  haouse,  an'  night  coming 
on  he  could  n't  get  no  furder,  so  he  went  to  bed  all 
alone  in  the  haouse.  He  said  he  hed  an  awful  time 
of  it.  He  never  was  so  skeered  in  his  life.  There 
was  n't  no  sign  of  anybody  raound,  an'  yet  in  the 
night  he  kep'  ahearing  a  low  moaning  saound  that 
made  the  hair  stand  right  up  on  his  head.  It  was 
pitch  dark,  an'  he  couldn't  strike  no  light  ter  see 
where  it  kim  from.  It  seemed  like  some  poor  cree- 
tur  in  distress.  He  did  n't  sleep  none  that  night,  an' 
with  the  first  peep  o'  day  he  was  aout,  looking 
raound.  He  see  the  barn  was  half  buried,  an'  the 


WE  JOURNEY   TO    A    FAR   COUNTRY.  235 

moanin'  kim  from  one  of  Mr.  Willey's  oxen  that  was 
crushed  under  the  fallen  timbers.  He  got  the  crit- 
ter out,  and  kim  daown  to  Bartlett  an'  brought  the 
news  to  Mr.  Willey's  father. 

'"Wall,  next  day  all  the  people  turned  aout,  an' 
went  up  the  Notch.  I  went  along,  an'  I  never  see 
nuthhV  like  it.  You've  no  idee  of  the  damage  the 
water  had  done.  There  was  the  Intervale  all  cov- 
ered with  sand  and  driftwood.  The  bridges  and  the 
fences  was  all  swept  away.  There  wasn't  no  road 
left.  It  was  all  washed  aout  or  kivered  over  with 
fallen  trees.  We  had  to  cross  the  river  in  boats, 
an'  on  fallen  tree-trunks.  It  was  hard  gittin'  along, 
I  tell  ye. 

"  Wall,  when  we  got  to  Abel  Crawford's  haouse, 
Mrs.  Crawford  she  said  she  never  see  no  sech  flood. 
The  river  kim  down  at  a  fearful  rate,  carryin'  along 
sheep  an'  cattle,  an'  hay  an'  grain.  Afore  she  could 
get  her  children  up-stairs  the  water  was  two  feet 
deep  on  the  lower  floor.  It  had  put  aout  her  fire 
and  washed  the  ashes  abaout  the  room.  Then  the 
logs  kim  thumping  down  agin  the  haouse  till  she 
thought  they  'd  carry  it  away.  An'  there  that 
woman  stood  all  night  with  Tier  clothes-pole  and 
pushed  the  logs  and  timber  away  as  they  kim  daown 
agin  the  haouse.  The  road  was  overflowed  ten  feet 
deep. 


236  THE   BOYS    OF  THIRTY-FIVE. 

"  When  we  got  to  the  Willey  Haouse  it  was  a  sorry 
lookin'  sight,  I  tell  ye.  You  hain't  no  idee  on 't. 
The  mounting  had  slid  daown  back  o'  the  haouse, 
but  a  big  rock  jest  behind  it  had  divided  the  slide 
an'  it  jest  went  raound  the  haouse  an'  never  tetched 
it.  Ef  they  'd  on'y  stayed  in  the  haouse  they  'd  'a' 
ben  all  right.  But  of  course  they  was  skeered  an'  run 
aout  o'  the  haouse,  an'  the  slide  jest  buried  'em  up. 
There  was  the  Intervale  all  kivered  with  rocks  and 
dirt,  an'  the  river  choked  up,  an'  nothin'  but  desola- 
tion all  raound.  The  valley  was  jest  kivered  with 
sand  and  rocks,  with  a  branch  of  a  tree  sticking  aout 
of  it  here  an'  there.  Everything  was  a  heap  o'  ruins. 

"  We  began  a  s'arching  raound  for  some  o'  the 
fam'ly.  I  kinder  suspicioned  that  they  was  buried 
up  in  the  sand,  an'  so  I  looked  putty  sharp  to  see  ef 
I  could  find  anything  of  'em  a  stickin'  up.  through 
it.  I  happened  to  move  a  twig  an'  under  it  I  saw 
some  big  flies  that  I  knowed  was  allus  raound  any- 
thing that  was  dead.  I  dug  daown  an'  putty  soon  I 
saw  a  hand.  We  sot  to  work  and  got  aout  the  body 
o'  Mrs.  Willey.  She  was  dreadfully  mangled,  but  we 
knowed  it  was  her.  Then  we  found  Mr.  Willey  and 
his  two  darters,  Eliza  Ann  an'  Sally,  an'  the  two 
hired  men ;  one  of  the  men,  a  young  feller  that  I 
knowed  well,  had  his  hand  full  o'  twigs  an'  branches 
that  he  'd  caught  hold  on  as  the  slide  swept  him  along. 


WE  JOURNEY  TO  A  FAR  COUNTRY. 

"  We  s'arched  a  long  time,  but  we  never  could  find 
the  bodies  of  the  other  three  children.  We  buried 
them  that  we  found  in  one  grave,  to  lay  there  till 
we  could  carry  'em  daown  to  Bartlett,  an'  Elder  Haz- 
eltine  he  said  a  solemn  prayer  over  'em,  an'  read  a 
passige  o'  Scripter  where  it  tells  about  the  Almighty 
who  hath  measured  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand,  and  meted  aout  the  heavens  with  a  span,  an' 
comprehended  the  dust  in  a  measure,  an'  weighed  the 
mountings  in  scales  an'  the  hills  in  a  balance,  an'  the 
echoes  from  the  mountings  repeated  every  word  on  't 
as  plain  an'  solemn-like  as  ever  ye  heerd.  I  never 
forgot  them  words." 

"  Shall  we  see  the  slide  on  our  way  up  ? "  asked 
Jim,  after  we  had  sat  in  silence  for  a  time. 

"  Sartin,  you  '11  drive  right  past  the  Willey 
Haouse." 

The  rain  continuing  to  fall,  the  farmer  told  us  we 
had  better  stop  all  night,  and  we  gladly  accepted  the 
invitation.  When  we  asked  how  much  we  had  to 
pay,  in  the  morning,  our  host  said  he  thought  he 
ought  to  charge  us  much  as  twenty-five  cents  apiece. 
We  thought  this  very  cheap,  and  speaking  of  it  to  an 
old  gentleman  whom  we  afterwards  met  at  Thomas 
Crawford's,  he  said  it  reminded  him  of  an  incident 
which  befell  him  in  his  youth,  while  making  a  pedes- 
trian tour  through  the  Franconia  Notch.  The  party 


238  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

stopped  over  night  at  a  little  hut  in  the  wilds,  far 
from  any  other  house,  where  an  old  lady  gave  them  a 
very  hospitable  welcome,  and  set  before  them  for 
supper  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  and  some  wild 
strawberries.  In  the  morning  the  same  fare  served 
for  breakfast.  On  asking  for  the  bill  the  old  lady 
said  that  when  anybody  came  and  had  supper  and 
stopped  all  night,  and  had  breakfast,  she  usually 
charged  six  and  a  quarter  cents,  but  as  they  had 
something  extra  in  the  way  of  berries,  she  thought 
she  ought  to  charge  them  as  much  as  eight  cents 
apiece. 

Driving  on  the  next  morning,  the  valley  grew 
narrower,  and  the  mountains  rose  higher  on  either 
hand.  The  Saco,  now  dwindled  to  a  shallow  stream, 
flowed  over  its  pebbly  bed  by  the  side  of  the  road 
which  frequently  crossed  it. 

Presently  we  came  to  a  gateway,  and  a  man  came 
out  of  a  house  at  hand  and  demanded  toll. 

"  Toll,"  said  Jim,  "  what  for?" 

"  This  is  a  turnpike,  and  you  must  pay  toll  for 
passing  over  it." 

"How  much?" 

"Twenty-five  cents." 

"  Twenty-five  cents  !  "  repeated  Jim,  in  astonish- 
ment and  disgust  ;  "  is  n't  there  any  other  way  by 
which  we  can  get  through  ?  " 


WE  JOURNEY   TO   A    FAR   COUNTRY.  239 

"  No,  there's  only  one  road  through  the  Notch." 

"  Well,"  said  Jim,  as  he  reluctantly  handed  out  the 
silver  quarter  of  a  dollar,  "  I  never  heard  of  a  country 
where  you  had  to  pay  for  driving  over  the  roads." 

A  turnpike  was  a  new  idea  to  us,  and  we  looked 
upon  the  levying  of  toll  as  akin  to  highway  robbery. 
The  road,  we  were  obliged  to  confess,  was  an  uncom- 
monly good  one,  considering  the  rough  character  of 
the  country,  but  it  did  not  strike  us  that  it  cost 
something  to  keep  it  in  repair. 

"  We  had  driven  but  a  few  miles  farther  when  we 
came  to  a  scene  that  caused  us  to  pause  in  awe  and 
wonder.  The  narrow  valley  was  enclosed  on  either 
hand  by  a  high  mountain  wall.  On  one  of  them  was 
plainly  to  be  seen  the  pathway  of  an  avalanche  which 
had  swept  down  across  the  road,  leaving  a  broad, 
bare  track.  The  ddbris  filled  the  valley  and  was  des- 
titude  of  vegetation,  bushes  and  trees  being  buried 
beneath  it.  The  Willey  slide  was  before  us  in  all  its 
desolation.  We  gazed  upon  it  with  an  interest 
heightened  by  the  narrative  of  the  old  farmer. 
Here  still  lay  buried  the  bodies  of  the  lost  children, 
who,  on  that  dreadful  night,  rushed  into  the  darkness 
and  the  storm,  only  to  meet  death  in  the  overwhelm- 
ing avalanche. 

The  little  house  still  stood  by  the  roadside,  with 
an    addition,    offering    entertainment    to    travellers 


24O  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

through  the  Notch.  We  entered  it  and  were  shown 
the  rooms  as  they  were  left  by  the  family  on  the 
night  of  the  disaster.  The  few  articles  of  rude 
and  simple  furniture  had  a  strange  pathos  about 
them. 

Being  told  by  the  occupant  of  the  house  that  it 
was  but  four  miles  farther  to  Thomas  Crawford's,  we 
decided  to  drive  on.  The  miles  proved  long  and 
very  much  up  hill.  The  road  became  rougher.  We 
scrambled  across  ledges  through  which  flowed  moun- 
tain streams,  opening  up  views  of  beautiful  cascades 
as  they  leaped  down  from  the  heights  above.  The 
mountains  on  either,  side  closed  in  with  precipitous 
walls,  and  one  directly  ahead  seemed  to  block  the 
way.  The  road  grew  steeper,  and  just  where  it 
seemed  to  stop  and  the  mountains  to  shut  us  in,  a 
narrow  pass  opened  between  the  impending  walls. 
This  was  the  gateway  of  the  Notch,  scarcely  more 
than  twenty  feet  wide,  one  side  of  it  occupied  by  the 
road,  while  under  the  opposite  wall  flowed  the  trick- 
ling stream  to  which  the  Saco  was  here  reduced. 

We  drove  slowly  through  the  gateway,  gazing  up 
with  wonder  at  the  perpendicular  walls  of  rock  on 
either  hand.  Just  inside  the  gateway,  near  a  huge 
black  cliff,  resembling  an  elephant's  head,  stood  the 
Notch  House,  kept  by  Thomas  J.  Crawford,  a  son  of 
old  Abel  Crawford,  the  patriarch  of  the  mountains. 


WE  JOURNEY  TO  A  FAR  COUNTRY.       24! 

Here  we  found  rest  and  refreshment,  very  grateful 
after  the  day's  adventures. 

At  eight  o'clock  next  morning  the  horses  were 
brought  to  the  door.  The  landlord  announced  their 
arrival,  and  having  seen  that  all  things  were  in  readi- 
ness, we  mounted,  preparatory  to  climbing  to  the 
top  of  the  highest  peak  of  the  White  Mountains. 
Presently  an  individual  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  wearing  a 
broad  felt  hat  and  carrying  a  staff  in  his  hand,  pre- 
sented himself  as  the  guide. 

First  came  the  ascent  of  the  wooded  slopes  of 
Mt.  Clinton.  The  path  was  anything  but  a  smooth 
one.  At  first  we  threaded  our  way  through  a  deep 
rut  in  the  earth,  anon  we  were  climbing  over  rocks 
and  brambles,  and  again  we  found  ourselves  ascend- 
ing a  wooden  road,  which  very  much  resembled  a 
flight  of  stairs.  Turning  to  the  guide  for  some  relief 
from  the  tedium  of  the  way,  that  sapient  individual 
answered  all  inquiries  by  saying,  "Wall,  sir,  not 
knowing  I  could  n't  say."  He  was  on  foot,  and  as 
he  occasionally  took  a  short  cut  across  lots,  we  were 
at  times  startled  by  hearing  his  voice  immediately 
above  us.  Presently  we  came  to  a  spring  of  water 
in  the  woods,  where  we  stopped  to  quench  our  thirst 
and  fill  our  bottles. 

Emerging  from  the  woods  upon  the  summit  of 
Mt.  Clinton,  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sublime 
16 


242  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

scenery  which  was  to  reward  all  our  labors.  Imme- 
diately before  us,  but  with  a  valley  between,  Mt. 
Pleasant  reared  its  bald  head,  while  behind  it  rose 
Mts.  Franklin  and  Monroe,  and  towering  above  a\\) 
like  its  immortal  namesake,  was  visible  the  misty 
summit  of  Mt.  Washington.  The  morning  clouds 
enveloped  his  head,  as  though  the  old  gentleman  had 
not  yet  pulled  off  his  nightcap. 

Crossing  the  bare,  rocky  slope  of  Mt.  Clinton, 
we  began  the  .ascent  of  Mt.  Pleasant.  At  this 
moment  a  tearing  gale  swept  through  the  valley, 
while  the  clouds  descended  from  their  heights  and 
completely  enveloped  us.  It  was  with  difficulty  we 
could  keep  our  seats  in  our  saddles,  and  the  way 
seemed  lost.  But  in  a  few  moments  the  clouds 
lifted,  the  wind  swept  by,  and  when  we  stopped  to 
take  breath  upon  the  summit  of  Mt.  Pleasant,  a 
magnificent  view  opened  before  us.  Upon  either 
hand,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  appeared  innumer- 
able hills  and  mountain,  interspersed  with  beautiful 
lakes  whose  silver  surfaces  shone  brightly  in  the  rays 
of  the  sun,  adding  a  fairy  brilliancy  to  the  scene. 
Nearer  to  us,  and  immediately  below,  were  hills  upon 
whose  sides  were  the  paths  of  many  a  land-slide, 
while  directly  before  us,  and  towering  far  above 
Mt.  Monroe,  stood  boldly  forth  the  proud  form  of 
Mt.  Washington.  Above  all,  and  enclosing  all, 


WE  JOURNEY   TO   A    FAR   COUNTRY.  243 

towered  stupendous  piles  of  white  shadowy  clouds, 
like  mountains  of  the  air..  As  the  rays  of  the  sun  for 
a  few  moments  lighted  up  the  scene,  it  is  impossible 
to  conceive  anything  more  beautiful  than  was  the 
view  above  and  below. 

But  the  guide  cried  "  Forward,"  and  we  began  the 
ascent  of  Mt.  Franklin.  Here  the  roughness  of 
the  path  obliged  us  to  dismount  and  tread  our 
devious  way.  Winding  around  the  top  of  Mt. 
Monroe,  we  struck  off  to  the  right,  and  passing  under 
an  overhanging  cliff,  some  hundreds  of  feet  in  height, 
where  the  path  ran  along  the  edge  of  a  precipice, 
nearly  two  thousand  feet  high,  we  found  ourselves  at 
the  base  of  the  peak  of  Mt.  Washington.  Here 
we  paused  to  take  a  view  of  the  frightful  gorge  along 
whose  edge  we  had  just  passed.  Proceeding  onward 
again,  and  mounting  a  small  knoll,  we  were  greeted 
by  a  beautiful  sight.  Immediately  below  us,  and 
enclosed  in  a  sloping  hollow,  while  on  every  hand 
arose  the  rocky  summits  of  the  mountains,  lay  a  beau- 
tiful lake,  —  the  Lake  of  the  Clouds,  —  like  a  lovely 
maiden  sleeping  in  the  arms  of  a  giant.  Its  tranquil 
surface  as  it  glistened  in  the  sunlight,  contrasting  with 
the  rugged  peaks  around,  made  our  hearts  leap,  and 
we  shouted  with  joy  on  beholding  it. 

From  this  point  the  scenery  assumed  more  and 
more  the  aspect  of  grandeur.  We  were  now  ascend- 


244  THE    BOYS    OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

ing  Mount  Washington  ;  on  every  side  nothing 
could  be  seen  but  the  misty  outlines  of  lofty  moun- 
tains ;  before  us  were  the  sweeping  slopes  of  the 
giant  Washington,  whose  head  was  enshrouded  by 
dark,  heavy  clouds,  which  looked  gloomily  down 
upon  us.  Every  trace  of  vegetation  had  disappeared, 
and  the  mountain  seemed  an  immense  mass  of 
broken  rocks,  heaped  in  every  conceivable  form,  pile 
upon  pile.  Above,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  pierce  the 
overhanging  gloom,  nothing  was  visible  but  the  same 
dark,  dull,  universal  rocks.  The  mountains  whose 
summits  we  had  lately  thought  so  lofty  were  now 
sunk  into  insignificance  beneath  us.  We  seemed 
isolated  from  the  world,  cut  off  from  communion 
with  mankind,  and  elevated  in  solitary  grandeur 
above  their  sorrows  and  their  joys. 

"  Harry,"  said  Jim,  "  this  is  almost  as  terrible  as 
that  night  on  the  ice." 

"  But  fortunately  not  so  dangerous,"  was  my  reply. 

The  clouds  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  darker 
and  more  sublime  grew  the  scene.  It  became  dan- 
gerous to  proceed  farther  with  horses,  and  we  there- 
fore dismounted  and  left  them  behind.  We  now 
toiled  up  the  steep  ascent,  completely  enveloped  in 
the  clouds,  which  shut  out  all  view  of  the  surround- 
ing scenery.  At  length  we  reached  the  summit,  and 
paused  for  a  moment  near  a  monument  of  stones,  to 


WE  JOURNEY  TO  A  FAR  COUNTRY.       245 

catch,  if  possible,  a  glimpse  around.  But  the  clouds 
were  above,  around,  below,  and  we  were  fain  to  turn 
from  the  works  of  nature  to  the  wants  of  man. 

The  guide  produced  a  pair  of  saddle-bags,  and 
retiring  to  a  hollow  among  the  jocks,  long  used  for 
this  purpose,  we  partook  of  lunch.  While  thus 
engaged  the  clouds  began  to  break  in  one  direction, 
and  as  they  slowly  rolled  aside  we  caught  a  distant 
view,  the  most  sublime  we  had  ever  witnessed.  The 
summits  of  far-away  mountains  loomed  up  in  sight, 
and  moving  rapidly  over  them  were  masses  of  dark 
clouds.  While  yet  gazing  on  the  scene  the  clouds 
closed  in  again,  the  curtain  fell,  and  we  were  in  dark- 
ness again.  Once  more  they  separated  sufficiently 
to  disclose  to  us  immense  clouds  floating  past  on  a 
level  with  our  position,  whose  jagged  outlines  and 
craggy  tops  gave  them  the  appearance  of  moving 
mountains.  But  even  as  we  caught  a  hasty  glimpse 
of  the  glories  beyond,  the  same  thick  curtain  fell 
and  all  was  lost  again. 

The  guide  now  told  us  we  had  remained  as  long  as 
it  was  prudent  to  do  so,  and  descending  to  the  point 
where  we  had  left  our  horses  we  started  them  before 
us  and  trudged  on  behind.  Presently  we  met  a  party 
of  two  ladies  and  gentlemen.  They  inquired  about 
the  prospect  on  the  summit,  but  notwithstanding 
our  assurance  that  little  could  be  seen  and  the 


246  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FlVE. 

threatening  aspect  of  the  clouds,  the  ladies,  espe- 
cially the  younger  one,  were  determined  to  proceed, 
and  when  we  last  saw  them  they  were  disappearing 
in  the  all-enveloping  clouds. 

It  now  became  safe  to  mount,  and  indeed  in  pass- 
ing over  Mt.  Franklin  we  indulged  in  a  trotting 
match,  during  which  I  came  near  tumbling  from  my 
horse  with  laughter  at  the  doleful  grimaces  of  my 
companions,  as  they  bounced  up  and  down.  Jim's 
horse  lagged  behind,  and  we  heard  in  the  distance 
his  perpetual  "  Get  up,"  as  he  strove  to  incite  the 
lazy  beast  to  a  brisker  gait.  On  the  summit  of 
Mt.  Clinton  we  paused  to  take  a  last  view  of  Mt. 
Washington,  and  saw  that  the  clouds  had  nearly  dis- 
appeared, so  that  probably  the  ascending  party  had 
an  extended  view ;  yet,  as  the  guide  said,  "  Not  know- 
ing, we  could  n't  say." 

Plunging  into  the  woods  we  accomplished  the  re- 
maining two  miles  and  a  half  as  speedily  as  possible, 
and  arrived  at  Crawford's  as  the  clock  struck  six. 

Determining  to  proceed  on  our  return  home  that 
night,  we  set  off  after  supper.  Issuing  from  the  gate- 
way of  the  Notch,  Mt.  Willard  seemed  to  shut  the 
gate  behind  us.  The  shades  of  evening  were  falling  in 
the  narrow  pass,  and  we  were  impressed  by  the  stupen- 
dous mountain  walls  that  shut  us  in,  Mt.  Webster  ris- 
ing directly  above  us  and  Mt.  Willey  on  the  opposite 


WE  JOURNEY  TO  A  FAR  COUNTRY.       247 

side.  The  impending  cliffs,  in  the  increasing  gloom, 
seemed  ready  to  launch  down  upon  us.  While  my 
thoughts  were  occupied  with  the  fate  of  the  Willey 
family,  Jim  suddenly  startled  me  by  remarking,  — 

"  Harry,  I  don't  mean  to  pay  toll  on  the  road 
again." 

"  How  will  you  avoid  it  ?  " 

"I'll  run  the  toll." 

But  when  we  arrived  at  the  toll-house  the  gate  was 
shut.  A  woman  came  out  and  demanded  the  toll. 
After  some  haggling  over  a  written  pass  given  us  by 
Crawford  certifying  that  we  had  not  passed  over  the 
whole  length  of  the  turnpike,  and  were  therefore  en- 
titled to  return  for  half  toll,  Jim  with  much  grum- 
bling gave  the  woman  the  required  fee,  and  we  drove 
on. 

Arriving  at  the  hotel  in  Conway  late  in  the  even- 
ing we  found  it  all  a  light,  with  much  bustle  and 
many  teams  in  the  stable  yard.  Fatigued  with  the 
day's  climb  and  the  travel  of  the  night,  we  jumped 
from  the  wagon  with  the  loudly  expressed  determina- 
tion to  go  no  farther  that  night.  What  then  was  our 
consternation  on  being  told  by  the  landlord  that  his 
house  was  full,  and  he  could  not  accommodate  us. 
What  were  we  to  do  ?  The  landlord  said  there  was 
a  farm-house  some  miles  down  the  road  where  we 
might  get  accommodation  for  the  night. 


248  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

Compelled  to  drive  on  in  the  starlit  night,  we  ar- 
rived at  the  farm-house  about  midnight.  The  family 
had  long  since  retired,  and  all  was  dark  about  the 
premises.  After  much  rapping  a  gruff  voice  asked 
what  was  wanted. 

"  Lodging  for  the  night." 

"  You  are  late  on  the  road,"  said  the  farmer  as  he 
let  us  in. 

We  were  shown  to  a  bedroom  back  of  the  living 
room,  on  the  ground  floor,  which  the  farmer  and  his 
wife  had  apparently  just  vacated. 

Exceedingly  wearied  by  the  adventures  of  the  day 
and  night,  we  fell  into  an  uneasy  slumber,  tossing 
about  until  we  were  completely  entangled  in  the  bed 
clothes.  I  dreamed  that  I  was  climbing  the  moun- 
tain and  in  the  path  found  a  pair  of  woman's  shoes. 
On  awakening  in  the  morning  there  hung  the  identi- 
cal pair  of  shoes  on  the  wall  close  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  In  my  tossing  about  in  the  night  I  had  prob- 
ably reached  up  the  wall  and  taken  hold  of  the  shoes, 
which  had  thus  entered  into  my  dream. 

The  next  day's  drive  carried  us  back  to  my  aunt's 
in  Bankville.  As  we  neared  the  village  we  met 
nearly  the  whole  population  walking  and  driving 
towards  a  common  destination.  Old  farmers  and 
their  wives  jogged  soberly  along  in  their  wagons. 
Young  women,  on  foot,  were  dressed  in  their  best 


WE   JOURNEY   TO    A    FAR    COUNTRY.  249 

The  young  men  carried  their  Sunday  coats  under 
their  arms.  We  wondered  what  the  occasion  was 
that  had  brought  them  all  out,  and  on  inquiry  learned 
that  it  was  a  funeral.  Rum-drinking  and  funerals 
were  the  only  amusements  of  these  people.  The 
former  made  them  hilarious  for  a  time ;  the  latter 
afforded  a  sure  opportunity  of  getting  together  for 
social  intercourse.  At  my  aunt's  we  heard  more  of 
the  riotous  pranks  of  the  tipsy  Bankvillians,  and  the 
wonder  grew  that  any  of  them  were  sober  enough 
to  attend  a  funeral. 

A  long  day's  drive  on  the  morrow  brought  us  to 
Landsport  at  midnight,  and  we  drove  through  the 
silent  streets  as  the  maidens  were  bidding  their 
lovers  adieu  at  the  doors. 


25O  THE   BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

IN    AFTER    YEARS. 

BOYHOOD  is  but  a  dream.  How  soon  we  wake  up 
to  the  realities  of  life !  Looking  back  now  through 
the  misty  years,  how  rapidly  passed  those  happy  days 
that  seemed  then  so  long  ;  how  soon  we  were  called 
upon  to  play  our  parts  in  the  great  world  that  seemed 
then  so  far  away  ! 

The  boys  of  thirty-five  never  all  met  again.  After 
our  return  from  the  White  Hills,  Jim  Norton  and  I 
soon  drifted  apart.  He  took  to  the  sea  ;  I  went  to 
the  studies  which  were  to  open  to  me  the  doors  of  a 
profession.  Years  passed,  and  only  a  chance  meet- 
ing brought  any  of  us  together.  Gradually  we  faded 
from  each  other's  lives,  but  the  recollection  of  boy- 
hood companionship  grew  brighter  as  the  years 
wore  on.  Now  and  again  a  word  came,  a  voice  was 
heard,  a  strangely  altered  form  was  seen  for  a 
moment,  and  then  we  parted  with  a  pressure  of 
the  hand,  as  ships  at  sea  exchange  signals  and 
sail  on. 


IN   AFTER   YEARS. 

It  was  many  a  long  year  after  the  events  recorded 
in  the  earlier  chapter  of  this  truthful  history  that  I 
found  myself  travelling  through  the  mining  regions 
of  California.  We  had  been  dragging  over  the 
rough  road  from  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  when 
we  reached  a  shanty  town  among  the  mines,  where 
the  stage-coach  stopped  for  dinner. 

When  I  entered  the  tavern  a  group  of  gold-diggers 
were  gathered  about  the  bar  listening  to  the  quaint 
remarks  of  one  of  their  number.  This  individual 
wore  a  slouch  hat,  from  beneath  which  fell  a  tangled 
shock  of  fiery  red  hair.  His  face  was  gnarled  and 
his  beard  was  turning  gray.  He  wore  the  customary 
red  shirt  and  long-legged  boots  of  the  gold-digger, 
and  had  even  more  than  the  customary  swagger. 
Something  about  him  seemed  strangely  familiar  to 
me,  and  yet  at  the  moment  I  could  not  place  him. 

At  the  dinner-table  he  took  a  seat  opposite  mine. 
At  some  remark  of  a  companion  he  made  a  grotesque 
grimace,  and  then  I  knew  him. 

"  Neighbor,"  said  I,  "you  will  excuse  me,  but  I 
would  like  to  ask  if  you  were  ever  in  the  city  of 
Landsport  ? " 

"  Landsport ! "  cried  he,  half  rising  from  his  chair, 
"I  never  was  anywhere  else." 

"  And  do  you  remember  one  Harry  Ingersoll  ? " 

He  looked  at  me  curiously  for  a   moment,  then 


252  THE    BOYS    OF    THIRTY-FIVE. 

jumping  from  his  seat  and  reaching  across  the  table 
he  grasped  me  by  the  hand,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Harry,  old  pard,  this  is  striking  it  rich,  this  is." 

We  stood  a  moment  with  the  recollections  of  other 
days  rolling  over  us.  I  answered  Tim's  eager  ques- 
tions about  myself,  and  then  I  asked,  — 

"  How  long  have  you  been  a  gold-seeker,  Tim  ? " 

"  It 's  too  long  to  remember,"  said  he,  a  shadow 
falling  over  his  rugged  countenance. 

"I  hope  you  have  made  your  pile." 

"  Nary  pile  !  There 's  no  such  luck  for  Tim  Bunce. 
Though  once  I  struck  it  rich,  but  it  all  slipped  away 
from  me." 

"Shall  we  not  see  you  back  in  Landsport  some 
day  ? " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  abruptly  asked,  — 

"What  has  become  of  all  the  old  boys  ?  Where 
is  Ben  Hunter  ? " 

"  The  last  word  I  had  of  Ben  was  in  a  newspaper 
account  of  a  great  battle  of  the  Rebellion  in  which 
it  was  stated  that  Col.  Ben  Hunter  was  severely 
wounded  while  gallantly  leading  his  regiment  in  a 
charge  upon  the  enemy." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tim,  "  I  '11  warrant  ye  he  was  there 
and  gave  the  rebs  fits,"  adding,  with  a  humorous 
grimace,  "but  he  couldn't  make  a  chowder!  But 
do  you  ever  hear  anything  of  Joe  ?  " 


IN    AFTER    YEARS.  253 

"Joe  went  South  and  disappeared  in  the  great 
overturning  of  the  Rebellion.  I  have  never  heard 
of  him  since." 

"  And  what  has  become  of  your  crony,  Jim  Nor- 
ton ? " 

"Jim  married  Susie  Stirling,  and  now  commands 
a  fine  ship  out  of  Landsport." 

"He  always  took  to  salt  water.  Bill  Truman  went 
to  sea,  too,  but  I  suppose  he 's  not  captain  of  a  ship 
yet." 

"  No,  Bill  drifted  into  the  navy.  When  the  rebels 
stole  into  Landsport  harbor  and  cut  out  the  revenue 
cutter,  a  lot  of  us  went  on  board  the  steamer  '  Chesa- 
peake '  in  pursuit  of  them.  We  had  a  brass  piece  on 
board,  and  when  we  neared  the  cutter  a  man-o'-war's" 
man,  who  had  volunteered  with  the  rest,  ran  to  the 
gun,  patted  it  affectionately,  and  would  have  touched 
it  off  had  not  Bill  Bigelow  interfered  and  himself 
applied  the  match.  The  sailor  was  Bill  Truman.  I 
had  not  seen  him  for  years,  and  I  have  never  seen 
him  since." 

"  Si  Sumner  was  a  home  baby,  so  I  suppose  he 's 
still  living  in  Landsport." 

"  No,  poor  Si  died  years  ago.  I  was  the  only  one 
of  the  boys  who  attended  his  funeral." 

"  And  little  Ned  Thompson,  where  is  he  ? " 

"  Ned  is  running  a  dry-goods  store  in  Landsport" 


254  THE   BOYS   OF   THIRTY-FIVE. 

"I  always  thought  he  was  cut  out  for  a  counter- 
jumper." 

"  The  old  town  is  much  changed,  Tim,  since  the 
great  fire.  You  would  scarcely  know  it." 

"  Then  I  '11  never  go  back." 

"  Liberty  Street  is  less  changed  than  many  other 
parts  of  the  town,  but  our  old  play-ground  in  the 
lumber-yard  is  gone." 

"Is  the  old  stage  stable  there  yet  ?" 

"  No,  it  was  long  since  swept  away,  and  its  site 
is  occupied  by  a  block  of  stores." 

"  What  is  Liberty  Street  without  the  old  stable  ? 
No,  I  '11  never  go  back.  But  is  nothing  left  of  the 
old  town  ? " 

"  Yes,  the  observatory  still  stands  on  the  hill  and 
displays  its  flags  as  of  yore." 

"  I  'd  go  back  just  to  see  that,  and  Diamond 
Cove." 

His  voice  wavered  a  little,  and  I  thought  I  saw  a 
tear  gathering  in  his  eye,  but  it  disappeared  in  one 
of  the  customary  twitches  of  his  countenance. 

Just  then  the  coach  was  announced,  and  with 
many  words  of  farewell  and  a  firm  grip  of  hands  we 
bade  each  other  adieu.  As  the  coach  turned  the 
corner  of  the  street  I  looked  back  and  saw  Tim  wav- 
ing his  hat  in  front  of  the  tavern. 

I  have  not  seen  him  since,  but  as  I   read   in   a 


IN   AFTER   YEARS.  255 

California  newspaper,  the  other  day,  that  Timothy 
Bunce,  Esq.,  was  a  large  stockholder  in  the  Bonanza 
Mine,  I  suspect  he  has  "  struck  it  rich,"  and  I  should 
not  be  surprised  any  day  to  see  him  walk  into  my 
office  and  take  me  by  the  hand  in  his  old,  hearty 
way. 


DATE  DUE 

. 

1  MAR  1  7 

1993 

CAYLORD 

P-NT.O.NU.. 

ii 

rtnn  "  i 

°°0304378 


